


Rebel Archivist

by ladygekko



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Anxiety, Anyone Can Be A Champion, Assassins & Hitmen, Book binding, Book restoration, Books, Canon Trans Character, Cendrillon, Cinderella - Freeform, Cole (Dragon Age) is a Good Friend, Cole can be scary though..., Darkspawn, Demons, Depression, Doesn't mean You Know Best, Education, Elf rights, F/M, Fairy Tales, Fairy tale retelling, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, Forgery, Fuck Bianca, Guilt, Just Because You Know Everything, KEEP CALM AND FUCK THE CIRCLE, Libraries, Little Red Hood and the Big Dread Wolf, Lyrium Addiction, MGiT, Modern Character in Thedas, Modern Girl in Thedas, Self-Harm, Self-Indulgent, Social Justice, The Winter Palace (Dragon Age), Val Royeaux (Dragon Age), Varric Tethras is a Good Friend, but don't get murdered by Leliana, it was going SO WELL, light!Solas, manifestos
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-28
Updated: 2021-01-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:55:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 91,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25550068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladygekko/pseuds/ladygekko
Summary: Elisabeth St-Laurent arrived in Thedas 9 years ago. She tried to be smart about it, not to get involved with "heroes", but there is only so much she can do without being in the Inquisition. She wants to help, but she'd rather not get murdered by Leliana, please.Still, she's no fighter; she's a book restorer and binder. Lucky for her, there are a lot of books in Thedas that are in terrible shape, there are lots of stories that need to be told, and she knows an excellent writer with ties to the Thedas publishing industry.This might work out! Probably not, but a girl can hope. And eat Orlesian pastries.
Relationships: Cremisius "Krem" Aclassi/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 317
Kudos: 623





	1. A Corner Office in Skyhold

Skyhold was awe inspiring. Gorgeous. Magical. And a dump.

There were dead leaves settling into corners and ivy growing between the bricks, both inside and out. There was a vast nug population in one of the basements that would probably soon be culled to feed the freezing refugees from Haven. There were roaches in the kitchens, spiders in the attics and something unidentifiable but creepy crawly in what would eventually be the armoury.

It was perfect.

Elisabeth quickly made sure that the Nicholls, the family she’d been helping through the snow, were settled in a tent before she scampered up the stairs. She had to beat Dorian and Enchantress Fiona to the rotunda if she wanted her choice of offices; it had to be big enough for all her supplies, and it had to have a door.

She was constantly reminded that everything was much bigger than expected. It had taken her years to get over her assumptions that inns would only have two rooms for rent, or that the markets in Val Royeaux could be crossed in a minute or two. Her first time in Val Royeaux she’d been mugged twice before finding her way back to her inn after getting completely turned around. She’d learned her lesson: she’d quickly obtained a map, Michel the bodyguard and some dagger training. She’d never been mugged again.

She entered the rotunda, her nose itching from all of the dust and mold. The bare walls around her filled her with a mix of dread and hope, and she resisted the urge to touch them, to feel them before some particularly grumpy elf would embellish them with his signature style. Tomorrow she’d let herself be a fan. Tomorrow when she had an office, and maybe even some sleep. 

She found the stairs going up; they were full of debris, decaying bits of wooden beams, the top half of a chair, a multitude of mixed pages from who knows how many books, all sticking to the steps with a mixture of mold and moss. She almost lost her footing and clutched at the stone bricks desperately.

“Come on, Liz, don’t slip when you’re so damn close.” She murmured to herself. She was tired, honestly. Inns and markets were bigger, but so were the mountains; it had taken a week to travel from the ruins of Haven to Skyhold. She’d known there would be blood and snow, waiting and walking, but she hadn’t been ready for the death and crying. She pushed herself up the stairs and emerged on the second level.

Thank goodness it was bigger than expected too. The shelves were deep, multiple doors led to smaller rooms, and looking up, she realised the library was spread over three levels before the attic space. Some of the shelves were broken, and most of the shelves were empty, but both those issues would be fixed soon enough.

She went up a level, planning out which space to stake out as hers. Not too close to the attic in case she couldn’t convince Leliana to move her dumb birds, not too close to the main hall which was bound to get noisy in the coming months.

Then she saw it. Down a short line with bookshelves was a door. It was partially closed but inside she could see the walls follow the curve of the tower. She pushed the door open and screamed as a pair of nugs charged out of the room, squealing. She fell back, splaying out onto the library floor’s slippery pages.

She missed Michel. He would have laughed at her, but would have caught her too. She’d left him behind in Val Royeaux, with his wife and daughter; he was watching over the townhouse and the _atelier_ . Hopefully when this was all over, she’d invite them to Skyhold. She had promised young Camille to show her _un vrai château, vrai de vrai_ when she was a bit bigger. Her parents had shook their head, but she had meant every word. The Inquisition just had to defeat Corypheus, and step one was to get an excellent office.

She laughed as she picked herself up off the floor. That wasn’t really step one; it was the next step, and perhaps step 150 of who knew how many. She’d tried to write it all down once, but the amount of secrets she had written down had panicked her and she’d burned the lot late one evening. Still, in this moment, as she took in the small room with shelves along the back and plenty of space for a desk, things were going well. It was too small to share too, which was perfect.

“This will do nicely...” she mumbled smugly, dropping her bag inside and starting to shuffle the books on the floor with her foot. She’d need to make a sign...

“Already laying claim to your own space, Liz?” a cultured voice said from the main library room.

“How did you know it was me?” She popped back into the library.

Dorian smiled at her, his hair still perfect but his eyes tired. She was sure everyone in the Inquisition needed a nap. “You talk to yourself a lot my dear.”

“Perhaps. Still, I snagged the corner office before Fiona or nobody.” she said victoriously. “Before you too. As lovely as you can be, I’m not sharing.”

There was a polite scoff coming from their left. “ _Dame_ Elisabeth, I expected someone as well read as you to know that a round tower doesn’t have _corners_.” Enchanter Fiona said, with a bit of a side eye and a smile.

“Yes well… We’re all of us tired.” she answered, as Dorian tried not to chuckle. Fiona walked on as Elisabeth grabbed a mostly dry page off the ground. She pulled a thin metal case that held her emergency charcoal sticks. Most were still relatively whole, carefully wrapped in paper like a grown up, dusty wax crayon.

They were one of her more recent re-inventions, more portable than quills and ink pots, cleaner than uncovered charcoal or pastels. They weren’t as precise, of course, but with the built in sharpener in the lid, they were great for people on the go, and Varric had jumped on the idea, sharing the patent (and the profits) with her. He’d already made enough money off her other ideas, he trusted her _crazy newfangled technology_ without a thought.

She sent up a quiet thank you to Crayola as she wrote her name on the found page. Slipping one of her throwing knives from her belt, she pinned the note to the door of her new office with a loud slam that reverberated through the tower.

“Think this is clear enough?”

“It’ll do.” Dorian said with a smile.

“Great. I need to go nap for a whole day, and then I need to see if I can hire the Chargers.”

“Hire the… whatever for?”

Elisabeth yawned, the excitement that had brought her up to the library finally running out. “I left some things behind in Haven.” With another, very unladylike yawn, she waved away Dorian’s questions and went to find the bedroll the Nicholls had kindly promised to lay out for her.

\--

It actually took her three days to find time to enquire about the Chargers. She slept for much longer than she had anticipated, then helped out in the infirmary and orphanage tents. They’d had a make do orphanage in Haven, but the number of children had exploded from five to nineteen after the attack. The overwrought Chantry sisters were happy for a small break as she took over long enough to get some food and a bit of a bath. She sang some simple songs with them and promised to come back and tell them stories when things were a bit more settled.

Everyone seemed to be very busy and idle at the same time. There was a ton of work to do, but few people were directing anything. She had already snagged a few of the older children, orphans or not, to pick through the library. Anything that was still somewhat book shaped went on the shelves. Any pages that were somewhat legible went in one pile, and any that were wet, moldy and faded went into another pile. She’d have a look through it when they were done.

She loved restoring old books, and the old books of Thedas had a particular charm and magic to them that never failed to excite her, even after all these years. Still, some things were past saving and she wasn’t going to waste all of her time trying to dry and dust the mold off yet another Chantry history book. Fiona had promised her a mage would look through the ruined pages to see if any were from magical texts that could possibly be restored. They’d burn the rest.

She knew Skyhold was due for a massive book delivery within the next week. She had instructed Michel to start boxing up her library the moment the Conclave exploded. The wooden cases had already been ordered and transport secured. Hopefully the extra coin she had spent to keep everything anonymous would be worth it.

She found Josie in what would be her office, once it was properly set up. Even though the ambassador was currently working at a desk made of crates, sitting on a stool with only three legs, she looked elegant and put together. Her hair was smoothly put up, her dress was wrinkle-free, and only the hurried pace of her quill on the paper and the 4 runners around her betrayed her stress.

“Hello Josie, how are you holding up?” Elisabeth asked, when the last of the runners had been dispatched.

“Hello Elisabeth, I’m alright. How are you?”

“I could be worse. We are all incredibly lucky to have…” Elisabeth’s words caught in her throat, trying not to think of the people who hadn’t made it. She coughed, and straightened her back. “I was wondering if you had a few minutes to discuss a matter with me. It’s not urgent, and I’m happy to wait.”

“We could take a few minutes now, though if this is about requesting supplies, the waiting list is…”

“No, no, there are more important things than the books right now.”

This made Josephine smile. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you speak those words before, my friend.”

“And once Skyhold is up and running properly, you never will again.” On impulse, Elisabeth reached out and took Josephine’s hand in hers, squeezing it hard before letting it go. “We will make it here, I know we will Josie. We’ll be alright.”

They stared at each other solemnly for a beat. “How can I help you then?”

“I wanted to know if the Chargers’ contract explicitly stops them accepting other contracts from allied forces while they are employed by the Inquisition.” Elisabeth asked.

Josephine’s eyebrows rose a bit, her ambassador’s training preventing her from allowing too much surprise to show on her face.

“Who wants to hire them?”

“I do.”

“Whatever for?”

“I want to return to Haven to look for stragglers, and to recover my book restoration supplies.”

Josephine’s training failed her then, and her face betrayed her surprise.

“I’ll take care of payment and costs, and I’ll make sure anything else we can recover makes its way back to the Inquisition.”

Elisabeth could see Josephine considering her proposal, one part suspicious, one part opportunistic. “It would save us some gold if we didn’t have to pay them for a month… I’d have to talk to the other advisers about it, in case they had other uses for them.”

Elisabeth nodded, pretending not to know that the Inquisition was going to send them there eventually anyway. “I’ll pay three months of their fees if we can leave within the next two weeks.”

“We?”

“Oh yes. I’m going with them. I’m the only one who knows where my supplies are.”

“Liz…” Josephine rarely called her Liz. “How do you know your supplies even made it? The whole village was buried under the avalanche...”

“Don’t worry, I have a good feeling about this.” She reached over and squeezed Josephine’s hand again. “I’ll be in the library helping the cleanup. Let me know if the other advisers agree to having me take over the Chargers’ fees for three months.” She smiled kindly and left the ambassador’s office, hoping she hadn’t come on too strong.

Time to go have a proper look at what was recoverable.

\--

It took 4 days for Josephine’s runner to come find her in the library. She was escorted to the war room, trying to tamp down her excitement. She had, years ago, tried to temper her expectations. She wasn’t a hero and she had to accept that she would never see most of the fantastic locations Thedas had to offer. She had written off the war room as one of those locations. And yet here she was. Staring at the new Inquisitor and his advisers, joined by The Iron Bull and his lieutenant, standing around the giant, map covered table.

She allowed herself one spin, looking around the grand room. It was impressive even if you were expecting it, no one would fuss over a bit of awe.

“Inquisitor.” she greeted with a smile, bowing her head slightly at the overwhelmed looking Dalish man in front of her.

“No, no.” he said. “You wouldn’t call me Herald, you’re not calling me Inquisitor.”

“You do deserve that title, though, Mahanon.” She looked at the other people in the room. “Ladies, gentlemen. If I’m here, does that mean you’ll allow me to cover the Chargers’ fees for three months?”

“In exchange for them running a fool’s errand for you, yes.” The Commander was obviously not impressed with this turn of events. Elisabeth didn’t know him very well. Most of her work maintaining and restoring the Inquisition’s library kept her well away from the training fields and the armouries. He’d come around, she hoped. There were a significant number of military texts in the incoming shipment, and she wasn’t above bribing people to get them to like her.

“That’s excellent, when do we leave, Lieutenant?” she asked, turning to face the mercenaries.

“Are you certain you want to come with us?” the lieutenant asked, purposefully trying to look serious.

“Of course.” She smiled and put on what she hoped was a confident air. “You have an excellent reputation and I have no doubt your company will make up for my lack of battle experience.”

“I’ve seen her accuracy with throwing knives, Lieutenant Aclassi.” Leliana said quietly. “She’s not entirely helpless.”

She briskly nodded her thanks to the spymistress. She had never noticed anyone paying attention to her while she practiced back in Haven, but it wasn’t surprising that Leliana knew. Still, she hadn’t been able to convince them to move the bloody birds, and she was still quite miffed at having to share her space with filthy fowls.

The Iron Bull slapped Krem on the back, causing the smaller man to stumble forward, but only a little bit. He was obviously used to this particular brand of affection. He half glared at his captain.

Elisabeth grinned. It was so difficult to squash her excitement at seeing all of these characters, these people, up close and so alive. “Well, lieutenant, when are we leaving?”

“We’ll head out tomorrow morning, m’am.” he said. “And please call me Krem.”

“Please call me Elisabeth, then.” 

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> atelier - workshop  
> un vrai château, vrai de vrai - a real castle, a really real one  
> dame - lady


	2. Finding a Treasure Chest

Travelling with the Chargers was almost fun. Almost Without the injured and emergency supplies, they were travelling much faster, but it was still going to take nearly four days to make it to Haven. The two huge draft horses pulled a large cart on skis back through the Frostbacks, following the messy tracks they had forged before: an old fire pit, a gutted horse, a pile of rocks with the bodies of the dead beneath them.

Elisabeth had been introduced to her travelling companions before they left Skyhold; she was getting so good at meeting people she already knew for the first time. Grim and Krem were sitting at the helm, and she was sharing the cart bed with Dalish, Skinner and their tent, tools, backup weapons, kits and extra blankets. They’d left Rocky and Stitches at Skyhold, to help with the cleanup and the injured. There were still many, many injured.

The first day was quiet, awkwardly so. The two elven women whispered to each other quietly, not quite sure how to interact with Elisabeth. She understood; escort missions sucked. If she thought she could make it on her own, she would have done so without hesitation. Experience had taught her otherwise quite quickly. She was not equipped for dealing with Thedas’ dangers, and she had too much still to do to risk her life without cause.

When the sun started dipping behind the mountains, they found a suitable location to camp. It wasn’t a huge clearing, but it was butted up against a rock face and had quite a few trees that helped block the wind. They all pitched in to set up, Dalish taking care of lighting a large fire, the men setting up the tents and Skinner and Elisabeth taking the tack off the horses and covering them with blankets.

They all huddled into one large tent. They’d suffered closer quarters on the way over, and it meant using only one large heating rune to keep the inside warm. Warm-ish.

“Why are we back in this cold already?” Skinner complained, removing her gloves with a frown. She threw them onto her bedroll and started looking for something to eat in the packs.

Krem rolled his eyes, then shot Elisabeth an apologetic look. “Because Lady Elisabeth hired us to, and that is reason enough, Skinner.”

Skinner grumped. Elisabeth shivered slightly, under her furs. “I do understand that this is irritating, and I apologize for getting you all involved. It is unfortunately absolutely imperative that I recover my supplies. Not only are there priceless materials I need to keep working for the Inquisition in my trunk, there are also quite a few items that should really be kept out of the hands of our enemies.”

The Chargers shared a curious look. Grim threw his hands up, and that was that. Skinner handed out jerky and skins of weak ale. The evening was shaping up to be as awkward as the day had been.

“What were your favourite stories as children?” Elisabeth asked, her voice a bit too loud in the quiet tent.

Four sets of wide eyes stared at her.

“What kind of stories?” Dalish asked, curious.

“Legends, fairy tales, ghost stories… anything really.”

Skinner’s eyes narrowed. “Why do you want to know?”

“I collect them.” Elisabeth explained. “I just love them, and I always feel like I know a person a bit better when I know what kinds of stories they enjoyed when they were young.”

“You first.” Skinner was a tough cookie to crack.

Elisabeth started tapping her fingers, trying to think of which story to tell, when her eyes landed on Krem’s hands. He had just pulled out a travel sewing kit; needles pinned in a flap of wool fabric, small scissors, and what she recognised as possibly a seam ripper. He was apparently stitching up what might become a tunic or a shirt.

“Oh! I could tell you about the King’s New Clothes!” she said with a smile. “It’s about a vain, foolish King and the clever tailors who tricked him in front of his entire kingdom.”

With a sly smile, she realised she had caught them. Krem had stopped pulling up his needle, and Skinner’s eyes had narrowed a little more. Dalish and Grim were smiling. They were reacting just like the orphans at story time.

“Once upon a time” she began, “there was a vain, vain King who spent all of his kingdom’s riches on fabulous clothing for himself, each more amazing than the last.  _ Royale _ sea silk breeches dotted with bloodstone gems, fustian velvet robes with gold embroidery, and even fancier outfits for special occasions.

“One day, a pair of tailors came to court, promising the King the most exclusive, fabulous fabric he had ever seen. They promised him that no one, in the entire kingdom, would have clothing as unbelievable as him. But when they showed him the fabric, the King saw nothing.”

Elisabeth got on her knees in the tent; she couldn’t quite stand up comfortably. She held out her arm, miming out the draping and showing off of the fabulous fabric. Her audience followed her hands. “There’s nothing there, the King cried. Oh, said one of the tailors, did we forget to mention that this fabric can only be seen by the most noble, most clever, most important of people? Yes, said the other tailor, only the most excellent people can see this excellent fabric. Would you like to look again?”

Grim was smiling wide, having easily caught on.

“The advisers in the King’s court, not wanting to appear common, started commenting on the fabric’s splendour. Oh yes, yes, said the King. I see it now, it is beautiful!” Elisabeth rolled her eyes, dropping her invisible bolt of fabric. “Right away, the King ordered an outfit from the tailors, but also ordered them not to make clothing for anyone else until his commission was done. The tailors, after accepting the first half of their extravagant fee, were set up in a cozy  _ atelier _ in one of the castle’s towers. There, they started work on the King’s magnificent outfit.”

Elisabeth yawned widely, and her yawn turned into a full body shiver. 

“We should get to sleep.” Krem said, putting away his sewing.

“I can finish the story tomorrow in the cart, perhaps.”

“Yes please.” Skinner said, putting her gloves back on. Everyone was sleeping in their full clothes. It was going to be a long week.

“Goodnight.” Dalish said quietly, extinguishing the magelight above their heads. It wasn’t completely dark, the snow outside reflecting the light of the moons.

“If I am not awake when we need to move, don’t hesitate to wake me. I’m not much of a morning person.” Elisabeth warned the others. One of the two elven women snorted. Probably Skinner.

\--

They’d had to wake Elisabeth up. She helped load the cart, and fell asleep for another few hours or so once the cart had started moving. She awoke with a start that had the Chargers on alert - Skinner already had a dagger out.

“Sorry, I just forgot where I was for a moment.” she rubbed her eyes as they snickered at her, not unkindly. Dalish passed her some dried fruits and dried flatbread.

“Are you going to finish the story this morning?”

Elisabeth pointed at her full mouth, which just made Dalish laugh out loud. Once she finished her small breakfast, she made sure everyone could hear her over the crushing of the snow and continued.

“A whole month had passed since the tailors had set up in the castle’s  _ atelier _ . They had been eating the King’s food and taking advantage of the King’s hospitality, and the King was running out of patience. He stormed into the  _ atelier _ , followed by his troupe of advisers. The tailors were ready with what appeared to be an empty dresser’s torso. Here is your outfit, my lord, one tailor said. Yes, made of the most expensive fabric in the world, fabric that only the most noble and intelligent can see, said the other. The advisers began raving about the beauty and elegance of the piece, and the King, following suit, allowed the tailors to dress him. Isn’t it cool on your skin, my lord? one tailor asked. Doesn’t it allow for smooth movements, my king? said the other. Everyone was fawning over him, and even though the King felt a bit silly, he loved the attention. Announce a parade! I will show my entire kingdom this amazing feat of elegance! He paid the tailors the other half of their fee and set out for the parade.”

Grim snorted from above in the driver’s seat. “I know, right?” Elisabeth said, before continuing her story. “All of the inhabitants of the kingdom came out to see the King in his new clothes, and all were struck dumb when the King sauntered down the street, apparently naked. No one dared to say anything, until one small voice cried out THE KING IS NAKED! Everyone turned to the laughing voice, where a small elven boy pointed and giggled. He’s naked in the street! As more and more people began to laugh and point, the King ran back to his castle. The tailors had disappeared, long gone with their gold. The King fired all of his advisors and asked the small elven boy to come to his court. From that day on the little boy advised the King, who became less foolish and kinder over time. The end.”

She mock bowed to her audience, who clapped and laughed.

They chatted easily until it was time to set up for the evening again. They stopped near a stone outcrop where they’d stopped with the caravan escaping Haven. There were more signs of the previous camp around. More broken carts and piles of rocks. One pile of rocks in particular caught Elisabeth’s attention, but she tried to ignore it.

They set up the tent, fired up the heat rune, and sat around in their clothes, waiting to get warm enough to sleep. Skinner, who had softened up like a caramel left in the sun, told Elisabeth the story of  _ La Petite Allumetière _ , the little matchstitck girl. As the little girl died and her soul went to the Maker, the whole tent was silent.

“That is so sad…” Dalish said, tears in her eyes.

“She asked for stories, not happy stories.” Skinner defended.

“It was perfect, Skinner, thank you.” Elisabeth said quietly. She’d pulled out a notebook and her charcoal crayon and had been writing notes the whole time. She wiped a few tears from her face, rubbing charcoal onto her cheekbones with the same movement. “It’s unfortunately the experience of a lot of children who come out of the alienages… I just wish I could… It’s not my place to say. I’m going to put my head down, good night.”

\--

She was in the cart, on the way to Kirkwall. The merchants had found her, had given her clothes to cover herself, and had been patient with her as she tried to find her voice. She’d woken up on the side of the road, what little she’d had on torn and hanging off her. She’d been covered in bruises.

She hadn’t spoken yet, her brain still trying to process what was happening to her. The merchant’s youngest, Mary, a girl who was perhaps seven, was bringing her food and water a few times a day. She had nodded when they said they’d take her as far as Kirkwall, even though inside she was screaming, trying to rationalise what could have possibly happened to her.

Her mind kept going round and round in mad circles, until a shout and the clash of swords had drawn her attention to the outside of the covered cart. When she stepped out, everyone was dead. The merchants, the bandits, the cart was surrounded by bodies. Something niggled at her memory, something telling her it hadn’t been like that, that some people had survived the attack, that they had made it to Kirkwall eventually.

The doubt flew out of her brain when she saw little Mary, still and bleeding, dead on the floor in front of her. She knelt on the ground, picking up the feather-light body, starting to cry. “You knew this would happen.” the corpse told her, her bleeding mouth moving, her dull eyes staring off to the sky. “Why didn’t you stop it? You knew!”

Elisabeth curled herself around the body, apologizing, begging, as the niggle came back. Wake up, the little voice said. You didn’t weep for her, her mother did. Wake up, wake up…

\--

“... Lady Elisabeth wake up!”

Elisabeth’s eyes flew open, Krem above her shaking her shoulders. Dalish was on her other side, her hand on Elisabeth’s arm.

Elisabeth pushed passed Krem and burst out of the tent, the freezing mountain air waking her up completely, scrubbing the nightmare from her brain.

She jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder. “Just me.” Krem said. “Bad dream?”

“Yeah. I should be used to it by now. Thedas is a rough place. Sometimes my dreams like to remind me that it’s not just a…”

“Not just bookshelves and stories?”

Elisabeth laughed, and Krem looked relieved. “Yeah, I guess so. Thank you, Krem.” Now he was smiling too, nudging her back into the warmth of the tent. Elisabeth tried to ignore his lovely smile. 

She’d had many crushes in the last nine years. Most of them on people she had absolutely no proper interest in. It was more hero worship - these were literally heroes, what could she do? It had taken her three days of sitting outside the Hanged Man before she got brave (and hungry) enough to go in and speak to Varric, who’d always been canonically nice. She’d clammed up so hard when she’d met Hawke that Varric had been afraid she would faint.

Then Anders had walked in, and she had fainted.

A week later, after sorting out patent contracts with Varric, he had given her a small loan and she’d left Kirkwall for Val Royeaux.

All of these people were amazing, beautiful, and way more deadly than she would ever be. Keeping her eyes lowered, she mumbled some thanks to Krem and snuggled back into her spot to try and sleep.

\--

They made it to Haven - to where Haven had been - by nightfall the next day. The five of them starred in silence at the destruction. They had lived here for months, and it was reduced to a chantry roof, broken boards and dead bodies.

After a few minutes, Elisabeth sighed, grabbed a shovel and a pickaxe from the sleigh and headed out, away from the chantry.

“Lady Elisabeth, where are you going?” Dalish cried out 

“If my idea works out, we may not need the tent this evening!” she called out happily.

“And if it doesn’t work out?”

“Then I have a lot more digging than I had hoped to do. Oh, can someone bring the thick rope along?” she cried.

The Chargers watched her walk away from Haven, into what used to be a forest, but was not dirty snow and the tops of some unlucky evergreens. Grim fetched the rope, and they all followed her.

She led them through the treetops, and stopped when she reached a waist-high pole with a small red flag attached to it. She started digging around the flagpole, and after about a foot of snow, stopped when her shovel thunked against something hollow.

“Please have held up, please please please…” she whispered to herself, clearing the snow around what was being revealed to be a roof. “Can someone pass me the pickaxe?” she asked. Skinner passed it to her, but as she swung it towards the roof Krem held it back.

“May I, Lady Elisabeth?” he asked loudly, no doubt imagining their employer hurting themselves.

Trying not to look too insulted, she handed him the pickaxe. “Fine, but be careful. If I’m correct, the inside of the house has held up to the snow. It shouldn’t be too far of a drop, but try to avoid falling in.”

“Right.” Krem tossed the pickaxe aside, pulled the war hammer off his back, and after waving everyone away, swung it into the roof. The wooden slats had no chance. With a few more hits he’d made a hole big enough for them to fit through. Krem insisted he go first, so they tied the rope around his middle and lowered him in.

“Looks safe!” he called up. “We definitely would be warmer spending the night in here!”

“There should be a ladder against one of the walls!” Elisabeth cried down.

There was a pause as Krem located the ladder, then poked it up to the hole. Elisabeth lowered herself down quickly, heading to the south west corner and pulling a large waxed sheet off of a massive trunk. “Oh fucking thank the spirits.” she said, dropping to her knees and practically falling onto the trunk.

“Grim and I are going to get the supplies!” Skinner shouted down as Dalish descended the ladder.

“How did you know about this place?” she asked carefully, looking around the hut. The walls had all been reinforced with extra planks, and extra diagonal supports had been added on the northern wall. The door and the window on that side of the hut had been nailed shut from the inside.

“Oh, I used to hide here from Chancellor Roderick. Working in the chantry was impossible when he had a particular bone to pick with Mother Giselle or Josephine or whoever he could get to sit still long enough to listen to him shout. Eventually I had my supplies moved here too. I caught a couple of sisters trying to get into it, and things in this box are much too valuable to be allowed to tempt people.” She was still running her around the box, checking all the edges and along the lid with her fingers.

“Incoming!” shouted Skinner, as she threw the bedrolls and packs down the hole. Krem swore in Tevene and caught a few of them. “We’ll go tack up the horses and be right down.”

“Krem, can you give them this?” she said, passing him the waxed sheet that had been on the trunk. “They can lay it out over the hole in the roof, and it’ll help keep us dry.”

Within half an hour, they were all inside the hut, and it was warm enough that they could remove their coats for the first time since leaving Skyhold. None of them smelled great, but no one was overly bothered.

Elisabeth had pulled the trunk away from the wall. She pulled a chain around her neck out of her shirt and over her head. There was a small golden key on the end of the chain.

She was too focused on her task to notice that the Chargers had stopped their set up and chatter and were now watching her work.

She slipped the key into an easy to miss hole down near the bottom of the trunk. As she turned the key, a panel on the lid snapped open, revealing a dial. She spun it this way and that, till a dull thud sounded. She snapped the small lid shut, hiding the dial again. “Krem, can you help me…” she turned around and paused, suddenly realising she had everyone’s attention. She coughed awkwardly. “Can you help me raise it up on its side?”

“As you wish…”

“Thanks, it’s easier with two people.”

They upended the trunk, and with a shove, Elisabeth opened it up.

It was less of a trunk, and more of an extensive set of drawers. Elisabeth ran her hands down the knobs and handles, reassuring herself that it was all still there. There were slim drawers filled with paper samples from all around Thedas, sealed ink jars and speciality pen nibs, cotton threads and special nug-skin glues; all the things she needed to restore books and sometimes, just sometimes, forge something new but old.

She opened one of the larger cabinets and squeaked happily. “I knew I still had some!” she said, pulling out a pink and white striped paper box.

“They may be a bit stale, but would any of you like some chocolate dipped  _ madeleines _ ? They’re from Val Royeaux.” She held out the box to reveal smallish pastries. Skinner was the first to surge forward.

“ _ Ça fait des années que j’ai mangé des madeleines _ !” she said, grabbing one quickly but taking a small bite with reverence. The others followed suit, though Elisabeth had to assure Krem that he was welcome to them.

“They won’t last forever, they’re already a bit hard.” she urged. “And I’m not letting good chocolate go to waste.”

They all finished their slightly chewy pastries in silence.

“So are you the one who strengthened the walls?” Krem asked casually.

Elisabeth froze for a half second, but then shook her head. “No, no idea who decided to the renos here. I hadn’t been here in about a week before Haven was attacked. I spent most of that time helping with the influx of mages. There were so many younger kids and quite a few injured.”

Krem caught the small nod Dalish made, confirming her story.

“Oh, I’m so glad it all worked out either way. Tomorrow morning we can have a look for any other supplies we can reclaim. We can probably find the armoury, there may be materials or tools we can salvage.” She spoke, mostly to herself, as she put the empty pastry box back in the cupboard and dragged it shut. The lock clicked into place loudly. She checked it, then went to her bedroll. “Although,” she said, stretching. “It might be worth waiting till the spring to get that stuff, since it won’t suffer too much from being wet.” She lay down, apparently out of energy now that her things had been found. “Can you imagine my paper collection if we’d waited till spring?”

“She collects paper?” Skinner whispered, confused.

The Chargers sat on their bedrolls, looking at each other, until Elisabeth started softly snoring.

Grim cocked his head towards the other side of the hut, and they all huddled in a corner.

“I was expecting gold or jewels, honestly.” Dalish said, keeping one eye on the sleeping woman.

.“Or a body.” Skinner added. Grim grunted and held out his hand at the ladder, which just happened to be the right height to reach the roof.

“She seems harmless enough, but…” Krem looked at the barricaded windows and the cross-braced walls. “Either way, the Chief is already looking into her. I think he just wants to know how a librarian could afford to pay three months of our fees on a whim.” He rubbed the back of his hand over his eyes. “No matter. We’ll get her back to Skyhold in one piece, with her precious box. That’s what we’re here to do. Let’s leave early though. There’s something odd about all this.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> atelier - workshop  
> madeleines - little dense pastries  
> Ça fait des années que j’ai mangé des madeleines - I haven't eaten madeleines in years!


	3. An Anonymous Donation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you want to see what kind of repairs Solas is being a grump about, check out the following links for a fascinating read/look:  
> https://www.atlasobscura.com/articles/medieval-manuscripts-embroidery  
> https://www.themorgan.org/blog/holey-moly-historical-damage-and-repairs-medieval-manuscripts

Elisabeth and the Chargers arrived back at Skyhold seven days after they’d left. She gave them each a hug goodbye at the stables, and even Skinner put up with her, despite going quite stiff. She found two of the burlier stable hands and paid them to bring up her trunk to her office some time today.

She waved at the Chargers and walked towards the keep. It was amazing how much the cleanup progressed in the week she was away. The stairs were all free of debris, there were fewer tents in the yards, and scaffolding had gone up both outside and inside.

“Bookworm!” Varric called out, as she entered the main hall. He had set up near the fireplace already, letters and stacks of paper strewn on the table in front of him. “You’re back from your big adventure? Did you find your treasure chest?”

“It was hardly an adventure, Varric. The Chargers were there the whole time and nothing dangerous happened at all. The worst thing was the cold, honestly.”

“But did you find your treasure chest?” he asked again.

“Of course I did. I told you I had a good feeling about finding it.”

“Tiny owes me coin, thank you very much, my lady.” he grinned, rubbing his hands together. She had learned long ago not to bet against the dwarf. “A huge delivery arrived while you were gone, by the by. Apparently an anonymous benefactor decided to donate their entire library to the Inquisition.” There was a small twinkle in his eye. “Over a hundred wooden cases, organised by topic, all in pristine condition! A very impressive collection, likely worth hundreds if not thousands of gold.”

“That’s great!” she said quickly, pretending that the excitement about her shipment arriving safely was about the new books. She knew she wasn’t fooling him at all, but she trusted Varric not to dig too much. Considering how much money he had made off the patents they shared, it was in his best interest, really.

“Chuckles was upset when the rotunda was filled with cases, but he’s mellowed out since they’ve opened some of them up.” He laughed his thick, friendly laugh, and Elisabeth smiled. She loved that laugh. It reminded her of some of the nicer times she’d had in Thedas. There weren’t that many, to be honest.

“Well I better get in there and see if any of the books are in rough shape!” she said cheerfully.

“I’m sure our anonymous donor took great care of their collection, Bookworm.” He winked at her and picked up a letter from the table.

Elisabeth tried not to roll her eyes and entered the rotunda. She came to a screeching halt when she realised there were enough wooden crates to obscure the stairwell entrance and Solas’ desk. “I can see why he’d be grumpy…” she said to herself, walking in the small path that had been left between cases.

“Not to worry, I’ve been promised my space back within the week.” said a voice from above her. “Good morning, Lady Elisabeth, I’m glad to see you’ve returned from your excursion.”

It took Elisabeth a few seconds to be able to shut her open mouth. Solas was sitting comfortably on top of a pile of three wooden crates, a pile of books to his left and a crowbar to his right. “Good morning Solas! Are you trying to get dibs on all the interesting books in our delivery?”

“Dibs?”

Damn it. “First pick; are you rooting around in the boxes picking out all the most interesting finds before anyone else has a chance to see them?”

“Of course not,” he lied, “I’m simply taking advantage of them being on first floor for now.”

“Or course.” she parroted. “Do let me know if any of the books need repairs, yes? The beautiful history of Redcliffe I’d almost finished restoring was among the ones I recovered on my excursion; I should have it finished by next week.”

In a smooth movement, Solas slid down the crates to land in front of her. Bloody elven grace, she thought to herself. “It seems quite a few of these volumes have already benefited from your handiwork.” He flipped open a book and let it land on a page that had had a corner torn. It was stitched back together with bright blue and pink thread, the stitches laying flat across the thick paper, not adding bulk.

“That does seem like my work, yes. To be fair, I have had clients from all across Thedas in the past years.”

“I’ve still never seen a technique like this, not even in the fade.” Solas ran his fingers down the row of tight stitches. “I’ve been looking.”

That… Was that a threat? Elisabeth felt herself fluster, and she entered dorky historian mode as a defense mechanism. “Well the thread is photo-stable and acid free, unlike many glues. It lets a book be used as soon as the repairs are done unlike many chemical fixes. It also doesn’t interfere with any magical spells contained within the book; many magical repairs can have a negative effect on books, rendering them useless to further magical study and… it’s pretty?”

Solas smiled at her babbling, but there was definitely something behind his eyes.

“Stop tormenting her Solas, before I start to question your own life choices; don’t tell me you’ve seen drab outfits like yours in the fade. Come on up, Liz dear, you have got to see what we’ve been sent!”

“Excuse me, Solas, it seems I’m essential to Dorian’s continued existence.” she said quietly, happy for the distraction. She nudged past him and followed the trail to the stairwell. Several pages were bringing handfuls of books up, emptying the cases into the bookshelves above.

She grinned to see how far the library had come while she’d been gone. The floors were tidy, the shelves were filling up, and mages and clerks were bustling between the stacks, moving books around. A whispered argument was happening on the upper floors, about book classification or something. It was starting to look… well, it was starting to look just like she’d always imagined it.

Dorian already had his little alcove set up, an incredibly cozy chair taking up prime real estate in front of one of the windows. He was flipping through a thin volume, smiling to himself. “There you are my dear, I’m glad you made it back in one piece. Look at these puzzling little things! Where do you suppose we should store these?”

She recognized the pile of books next to him now. They were the kids books from her secret publishing house. Dorian was flipping through  _ Ma Seranas means Thank you _ , but she could also see  _ A City Alphabet,  _ and Varric’s  _ Everyone Can Be A Champion _ . There were multiple copies of each just as she’d requested.

“Well, we could keep a copy of each in the library, I guess. The rest could go to the orphans perhaps? I know that Josephine has been nagging Mother Giselle about getting the children a reading tutor.” She started going through the pile, setting aside one of each title. “These would surely help.”

Dorian put down the book he’d been reading and grabbed Varric’s. He flipped through a few pages.“I didn’t know Varric had written something more saccharine than  _ Sword and Shields _ !” he laughed, flipping the book around to show her the inside. It was the page about helping your friends with an illustration showing two children, one dwarven, one human, carrying firewood together.

“I think it’s sweet!” she defended. She’d spent way too long convincing Varric to write the damn thing for it to be mocked. “Not everyone can have fabulous magical powers and surreal strength, Dorian. Children need to know they can be heroes in their own little ways as well.” She’d had this argument many times in the last 7 years, often with people who didn’t think children deserved their own books. “Maybe now that we have copies, I could convince Varric to read it aloud to the kids one evening.” Her eyes lit up, but Dorian smirked at her. 

“I would pay good coin to watch that.”

“Well we won’t charge the children, Dorian, for fuck’s sake…”

Dorian guffawed, and she left him to go check on her office. She didn’t know how the stable hands were going to get her trunk past the crates, but she’d worry about it later. She pushed open the door to her space. The hastily scribbled sign and throwing knife had been removed from the door, and were now laying on the simple table that had been pushed into the room. There wasn’t a chair yet, but there were three books waiting for her.

The first was written in what Elisabeth recognised to be Rivain. It seemed to be a fire magic grimoire, so she handled it carefully. She had absolutely no magic of her own, so she was relatively safe from the effects of magical tomes, but it never hurt to be careful. There was an accompanying note from Fiona about being quite dear to one of the elder mages who had come with her from Redcliffe. There were a few tears, a few missing corners, nothing too difficult for her to fix. Fiona was getting it repaired for the mages seventy-fifth birthday. The bottom of the note included instructions to put it on her account.

The second was from Leliana, so Elisabeth shut her door before opening the book. Calling it a book was perhaps premature. It was a rough collection of missives, all in unfathomable code, all shoved into the binding of what may once have been a lovely history of Ferelden. Leliana’s note was simple:  _ Comme le dernier _ .

Would it kill her to say please?

The last had her biting her finger to keep from squealing. Cassandra’s penmanship was stiff and the note was short and sweet. “I would like this properly bound. It needs to hold up to repeated readings. I will pay you, of course, and will double your fee if you are able to keep it from you know who.” The paperback copy of the first volume of Sword and Shields in her hands was a little bit worn, but wouldn’t stay nice much longer.

Elisabeth sometimes hated herself for having introduced the concept of mass market paperbacks to Varric when she’d first arrived; it was more accessible, but more wasteful as well. She insisted that a notice be printed at the end of each book, to make sure that once too worn, the books could be given to the rag men who would sell them back to the paper mills. Paper in Thedas had a much higher fabric component than what she’d been used to back home.

She put the books aside for now. Once her trunk made it up, she’d have all her tools to do the repairs and rebindings.

“Solas, have you been lying to me again?” Dorian shouted, loud enough that she heard it through her closed door. She left her office and went to the railing. She wasn’t the only one, multiple heads on each level watching as Dorian cheerfully glared down at a steaming Solas.

“What are you talking about, Dorian?”

“You told me the Dalish refused to produce written records of their stories, but what do I have in my hands?  _ Little Red Hood and the Big Dread Wolf _ ?” Dorian was holding two copies of the book. “Here, catch!” he tossed one down to the elf below him. Solas caught it in his delicate fingers.

“Dorian Pavus, do not throw books!” Elisabeth shouted before she could catch herself. Everyone’s attention was briefly on her, which was probably a good thing.

Solas was staring at the thin book’s cover like he wanted to freeze and incinerate it at the same time. 

Elisabeth tried not to fidget. The illustration of a small red hooded elven figure, wrapped by the large, multi-eyed bulk of the Dread Wolf was one of her favourites. She had the original commissioned piece hanging in her townhouse in Val Royeaux. 

“Isn’t this proof that you were wrong?” Dorian asked delightfully.

“It’s from some human publishing house in Val Royeaux, it can hardly be counted…”

Elisabeth bristled. She wanted to speak up, but Dorian was quicker.

“There is actually a very well written introduction that lists the different clans that were consulted during the writing, and the name of the Dalish artist who made the rather darling cover image. The publisher hopes that the sharing of stories like this, children from across Thedas can know each other a bit better. So adorable I might puke. Oh, they even invite anyone with questions and comments to forward them to their mail box in Orlais!”

Solas was grumpily flipping through the book. Everyone was on tender hooks, waiting for the hedge mage’s reaction.

Of course, Dorian had no patience. “Were you aware that the Dread Wolf had so many eyes?”

“Fenedhis of course I knew!” Solas roared. “Why don’t you…”

“Dorian!” Elisabeth shouted. “Did you… did you manage to make time to ask Ambassador Montilyet about accommodations for me while I was away?”

“Oh, yes! Let’s leave Mister Grumpypants here and I’ll show you to your room. It’s near mine; I insisted, you know.”

Elisabeth nearly ran down the steps, grabbed the stack of books to donate to the orphanage in one arm, and Dorian’s arm in the other, and started tugging him away. “Goodbye Solas!”

Solas did not respond.

That could have gone better, probably.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> Comme le dernier - like the last one


	4. Interlude: Little Red Hood and the Big Dread Wolf

Once upon a time, there was a young Dalish girl who loved wearing a deep red hooded cape that her mamae had given her. She wore it all the time and everyone in the clan called her Little Red Hood. She was a kind girl who helped her mamae with the cooking, and her papae with the hunting, and her older brother with the gathering of wood and fruits. 

One day, her mamae asked her to bring some flatbreads and jam to the old wise woman in the woods. The old wise woman lived in her own aravel outside the clan’s circle; most of her old clan was gone now, so she relied on the kindness of surrounding clans. Little Red Hood was happy to go deliver these delicious treats. She picked up her bow and quiver, put the food in a bag on her side, and set off.

As she walked along the forest path, Little Red Hood didn’t know she was being watched by two frightening beings.

One was a tall, strong Chevalier, who had heard about an old elven woman living in the woods by herself. He believed she would be easy pickings, and since he had nothing else to do this afternoon, he was going to be cruel.

The other was the Big Dread Wolf, Fen’harel himself, with his dark fur and his six bright red eyes. He thought Little Red Hood’s cape was pretty, and since he had nothing else do to do this afternoon, he was going to follow her and be tricky.

First he tricked Little Red Hood, changing the forest path to meander, so it would take her a little while longer to reach the old woman’s aravel. Still, on the way there, she saw a fox and her kits, and a lovely little stream, so she didn’t mind the walk.

Next, Fen’harel tricked the Chevalier, changing the forest path again so it would take the man even longer to reach the aravel. The Chevalier, frustrated by how long it was taking, tried to hurry but ended up tripping on tree roots and had to run away from an angry bear.

Finally, Fen’harel tricked the old woman by bundling her in a cupboard, dressing in her clothes and laying down in her bed, waiting for Little Red Hood. The Dread Wolf was quite pleased. This was turning into a very tricksy day.

When Little Red Hood arrived at the old woman’s aravel, she knocked on the door and let herself in. She was shocked at who she saw in the bed.

You’re not the old woman, Little Red Hood cried, your ears are too fuzzy, your teeth are too long and you have too many eyes; you’re the Big Dread Wolf!

Oh, I almost got you, answered the wolf, but you were too clever for me. Hide in the cupboard with the old woman and we’ll see if the Chevalier is as clever as you. And so she did.

When the Chevalier arrived at the aravel he barged in, saw a shape in the bed and stabbed into it, shouting Aha! Die old woman!

Luckily, Fen’harel had tricked the Chevalier’s sword to be harmless. Little Red Hood came out of the cupboard and said You silly man, can’t you see with your eyes? That’s not an old woman, that the trickster Fen’harel!

When the Chevalier turned and tried to attack the girl, Fen’harel tricked him one more time by devouring him whole.

Thank you, Dread Wolf, the old woman said, coming out of the cupboard herself.

Would you like to stay for jam and flatbreads? Asked Little Red Hood.

Oh no, I’m quite full and I have lots more tricks to play today, he answered.

Maybe next time, with less shoving into cupboards, the old woman said.

I shall think on it, said the wolf, and in a flash, he was gone. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my fabulous sister for the gorgeous, Dalish inspired Dread Wolf and Red illustration. She is the bee's knees.


	5. Near Death of an Altus

The Inquisition had been settled into Skyhold for nearly two months now, and Elisabeth was starting to feel comfortable and find a workable balance dealing with the books the inquisition was finding, the requests from private parties, and the demands of the authors at her _atelier_. 

Some were afraid her version of _The King’s New Clothes_ was too riské for children to read. She was writing yet another letter to explain why it would be ridiculous for a King to wear cotton smalls, since the tailors would have for sure made him smalls of the same amazing fabric, so of course he would be fully nude walking down the street.

Just as she was getting to the angry part of her letter about how everyone had body parts and there was no point being ashamed of them _when they weren’t even going to be shown in the book!_ \- one of Vivienne’s runners had interrupted her writing with an invitation to discuss a new project.

Elisabeth wanted to send him away and keep writing about nudity in children’s fiction, but the Enchanter had always been an excellent client. Vivienne would bring her interesting challenges and hereto undiscovered tomes. Never could just write a letter or a note. No, she had to do all this interesting business in person, probably because of the Game or other such nonsense. She had lived in Val Royeaux long enough to be able to play along, but no power on Thedas could make her care.

Still, she also often had excellent tea and delicious _viennoiseries_ for her guests. Hoping for _pain au chocolat_ , she followed the runner to Vivienne’s balcony.

An hour and a half and three vanilla-mint _macarons_ later, Elisabeth headed back up the stairs to her office with a stack of books and manuscripts in her hands. “Hello Dorian.” she said from behind her books, passing his alcove.

“Hello darling. I borrowed a few sheets of paper from your desk to take some notes. I’ll give them back to you when my shipment of papyrus comes in.”

“No problem.” The projects Vivienne had given her weren’t too heavy, but she would still be happy to put them down after all these stairs. Three times the library floors was good and all, but it did mean three times the stairs.

Back in her office, she put down her load and stilled. Something had moved while she’d been gone. Something important had changed. She looked on her desk, glanced at her trunk when her eyes finally landed on a shelf she reserved for current projects. There was a gap, just a little one.

Elisabeth felt her heart still as she realised what had occurred, as she replayed Dorian’s words in her mind. She closed her office and locked the door, which she never did during the day, and descended the steps slowly and deliberately.

When she found herself in front of Dorian’s alcove once again, she stared him down, finding her words. He finally felt her presence and looked up.

“Yes?” he asked with a delightful tilt to his voice.

“Altus Pavus, we are friends.”

“Was that a question?”

“No.” Elisabeth said quietly. “It was a statement of the only thing keeping me from wringing your neck right now.”

“Why? How have I slighted you, dear friend? Did I break a spine on a volume of Varric’s?”

“For such a brilliant mage you can be such an airhead sometimes.” she whispered, shaking her head.

Dorian did not have a reply to that.

“The paper you are using right now, Altus, to write notes on whatever bullshit you are reading about PREDATES THE FALLING OF THE FUCKING DALES!”

The entire library had stilled to a tomb-like quiet. Dorian dropped his quill onto the table, where it splattered the paper in question before rolling off the edge and clattering on the ground with the force of a cymbal in the silent space. Elisabeth could hear herself breathing hard, if not evenly. Soft footfalls fell on the stairs to her left and Solas peeked carefully around the corner, to see what the problem was.

“Altus Pavus, be thankful your Maker didn’t deign to give me magic, because you would be a toasted _guimauve_ right now, burnt and dripping on the floor.” She stepped forward; she could feel her pulse in her right eyelid. “Didn’t you notice it was different? Did you not… Never mind. I will forgive you, at some point. Not today. Probably not this week.”

The mage nodded a few times.

“I will forgive you this time, but mark my words: if you ever make a careless mistake like this again, I will end you. I may not have magic, but I know a lot of shady people from the shadiest corners of Val Royeaux. I will introduce moths to your wardrobes, carpenter ants to your bookshelves and _punaises_ to your bed linens. You will never be clothed, read or sleep in peace ever again. Are we clear?”

He nodded a few more times.

“Good day, Altus Pavus.”

She walked away, squeezed by Solas without shoving him, marched herself out of the rotunda and out into the main hall.

“Varric, my friend!”

The dwarf looked up at her, instantly suspicious.

“Yes…?”

“Come, it’s time to get me shit-faced!” she said cheerfully, though her eyes were wet. A few of the nobles around made shocked noises, but she couldn’t be bothered.

“It’s only two in the afternoon, Bookworm.” Still, he tidied his papers and locked them in the cupboard he kept nearby. “What are we celebrating?”

“I didn’t kill the Altus when he destroyed history dating back to the Glory age!” She was trying really hard to smile, but wasn’t quite managing it.

“Aw, shit Liz… Come on, let’s go.”

He guided her outside and towards the tavern, listening to her rant quietly in Orlesian.

“ _...putain d’marde, y’aurait pas pu faire attention? Tsé j’comprends ben, mais là, franchement! Fukin’ Tevinter de mon cul..._ ”

“I know, I know.” He didn’t know. He had no idea when she fell into Orlesian, especially when she was upset. “Skinner will be there at some point, she’ll commiserate with you. Come on.”

He held her elbow as she kept mumbling. This reminded him too much of the first year he’d known her, when she was angry all the time. Angry and sad, for some reason, usually at the same time. She’d come back to Kirkwall the week after Blondie had… Well she’d brought back supplies and money from Val Royeaux, and had handed it all out in the Alienage and in Low Town. She’d stayed a week and never come back, even for a visit. That week she’d been her angriest, and her saddest, even as she handed people food and blankets.

They’d written letters for the last 7 years, and he’d seen her at a few literary events, but never if they were hosted in Kirkwall.

“Let’s get you happy, Bookworm.” he said, hoping the Hanged Man’s selection of ciders was decent today.

“ _Ouais_ , let’s get me fucking thrilled.”

“Yes that.”

\--

Three hours later, Varric was watching Elisabeth playing a card game she called War with Skinner, shouting in Orlesian whenever she won, or whenever Skinner won, or whenever any cards she liked were played. She was almost pacing herself on the drinks; she was drunk, for sure, but she was in for the long haul. Her glass hadn’t been empty all afternoon. 

He had sent a runner earlier on to tell Sparkler not to bother coming to the tavern tonight. She probably would forgive him soon enough, but it wasn’t going to be this evening for sure.

“So what did the Vint do?” Bull asked, sitting down next to Varric, both of them watching her play cards. 

“He wrote on some 700 year old paper Bookworm was keeping for a special project.”

“Hmm.” The Iron Bull took a swig of his drink. “What kind of special project needs 700 year old paper?”

Varric shrugged. “She didn’t say.”

Across the tavern, Elisabeth obviously won a significant hand, standing up and snapping her fingers. “Bam, in your face girl!” Skinner didn’t look impressed, but didn’t look upset either.

“Has she always been a bit…”

“Strange? Off? Odd? Yes.”

“You should hear what my boys told me about their little trip to Haven…”

“Let me guess, she had a really good feeling about some really impossible things?”

Bull nodded slowly. “Something like that, yeah.”

“And somehow she was at the right spot at the right time?”

More nodding. 

“I know she’s an odd duck, but she’s not bad people. I don’t think we’re at risk of anything worse than a paper cut with her around.”

“Tell that to Dorian!”

“Fair enough…”

A loud gasp was heard in the tavern. An elven woman had let go of her partner’s arm and was rushing towards Elisabeth’s table.

“Madame St-Laurent?” the woman asked, her eyes filling up with tears.

“Madeline? What are you doing here?” Elisabeth pushed back her chair and hugged the smaller woman, almost lifting her off her feet. “I’m so glad to see you safe, and please, you know you can call me Elisabeth.”

“We work here now.” the young woman said, “Jean-Phillipe and I.” She reached out her hand to the elven man behind her, who stepped forward his hand out to shake Elisabeth’s. 

She wrapped him up in a hug as well, then backed away quickly. “ _Faut m’pardonner, mes amis, j’ai pris un coup un peu fort aujourd’hui._ ”

“Who are your friends, Lady Elisabeth?” The Iron Bull asked, sliding into the conversation smoothly for a 7 foot tall man with horns.

“These are Madeline and Jean-Philipe DeBoisvert. I met them in Val Royeaux two years ago.”

“Two years and three months ago, Monsieur. She saved our lives, she did. No one would marry us, and the guards were going to come, and Madame St-Laurent was able to obtain a marriage certificate for us in under a day! Signed by the Mother and everything!”

“It was my pleasure, my friends, but it really wasn’t that big of a thing…”

“They would only approve elven marriages once a month, sir.” Jean-Philipe said quietly. “How she managed to get the paperwork through…”

“Oh, anyone with a steady hand could have done it!” Elisabeth said, looking so much happier than she had a few hours ago.

“Right,” The Iron Bull said, “a steady hand and the right paper stock, right Bookworm?”

“Exactly! No biggie! Come, my friends, I would love to buy you a drink.”

Elisabeth took the couple towards the bar. The Iron Bull glances back at Varric, who looked like he was trying very hard not to scold him. 

“Special paper for special projects, right?”

“You’re too clever for your own good, Tiny. Shut up, sit down, and keep an eye on her.” Varric said grumpily.

—

A few hours later, Varric and Bull were somewhat impressed to see that Elisabeth was still going strong. She was also, unfortunately, much more emotional. She was telling Krem, Dalish and Grim about the last time she’d done business in Val Firmin. 

“...and then… and then… the Enchanter, _espèce d’humain raciste de mes deux_ , he said that Michel couldn’t come in the front door cause he was an elf, so I threw his order on his front porch and left. _Calisse de marde_ …”

“Is Michel your beau?” Dalish asked, curious. 

“Ha! _Non, non, non_. He was my bodyguard first, then my steward, and now he’s my friend. Him and his wife Élaine manage all my affairs in Val Royeaux. They have the sweetest little girl…”

“So did you leave anyone behind in Val Royeaux then?” Bull asked smoothly. 

“No, no one to leave behind.”

“And what about here?” He pushed. 

Elisabeth began to giggle uncontrollably. “Apart from Varric, and with my apologies, my dear friend, all you beautiful people of Skyhold are all much too young for me; wouldn’t be right!”

“Too young?” Krem asked. “How old is too young?”

“No no, you’re just another beautiful boy trying to find out how old I am just cause I’m drunk.” Elisabeth said, shaking her finger in Krem’s direction. “Won’t work, _jamais jamais_.”

“She’s thirty-eight!”

“Varric, you traitor!” She gasped without malice, swatting and missing him.

“Damn Chief!” Dalish said loudly. “She’s three years older than you! How come you look like shit and she looks so good!”

“I’m well preserved for my age, as my mother used to say.”

“Very well preserved.” Krem said quietly.

His tone made Elisabeth pause. She closed her eyes and held up a finger. She mouthed some words, and drew together her brows. “Varric, dear.”

“Yes?”

“Did I just tell Krem he was beautiful?” she asked, her eyes still closed.

“You sure did, Bookworm.”

“Did I mention his lips or his arms or anything?”

“Nope.” Varric said with a grin. Krem was now looking at the table, trying to avoid eye contact with everyone in his company.

“Oh good. At least there’s that. I think I’ve had enough to drink for this afternoon.”

“You missed dinner.”

She squeezed her eyes shut even tighter. “Right, well, then I should really go before I say something embarrassing. Varric, would you be so kind as to walk me to my room?”

“Sure thing, love, but you might be a bit too tall for me to support all the way there. How about we ask Krem to help, he’s big and tall.”

“And strong.” Elisabeth agreed, as Krem tucked his shoulder under hers and got her up. 

“Come on then, I’ll show Krem where your room is and protect your virtue.” Varric said loudly, making Krem blush even harder than he had already been.

“What is it Sera says again?” Elisabeth asked as they left the tavern. “Oh yeah: woof!”

The door to the tavern closed and the Chargers erupted in giggles and guffaws. 

“She’s gonna have a rough morning tomorrow…” Dalish said, shaking her head.

\--

Elisabeth woke up the next morning with a horrid taste in her mouth and a pounding headache beating at her temples. 

“Here, have some water.” said a lightly accented voice.

“ _Merci_.” Elisabeth said, grabbing the glass.

She froze.

What was worse, a hangover, or the Nightingale in her bedroom, waiting for her to wake up?

“ _Merde_.”

\--

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> (swearing is loosely translated)
> 
> viennoiseries - french pastries  
> pain au chocolat - chocolate croissants  
> macarons - macaroons  
> guimauve - marshmallow  
> punaises - bed bugs  
> ...putain d’marde, y’aurait pas pu faire attention? Tsé j’comprends ben, mais là, franchement! Fukin’ de Tevinter de mon cul... - bloody hell, couldn't he be careful? I mean, I get it, but still! Fuckin Tevinter piece of...  
> Ouais - yeah  
> Faut m’pardonner, mes amis, j’ai pris un coup un peu fort aujourd’hui. - you must forgive me, i've been hitting the bottle a bit hard today  
> espèce d’humain raciste de mes deux - bloody racist human  
> Calisse de marde - bloody hell  
> jamais jamais - never ever  
> Merci - Thank you  
> Merde - Shit


	6. The Usefulness of a Paper Collection

After somehow landing in Thedas, it had taken Elisabeth two years to stop imagining all the horrible ways she could die in a world like this: she could contract the blight; she could fall to the Qun while they ravaged Kirkwall; she could get gutted by bandits; she could even just scratch her hand and die from the resulting infection.

She had imagined herself torn to pieces by demons, bears, darkspawn and Chevaliers. She had had nightmares about possession, slavery and cliff falls.

None of those scenarios were as terrifying as waking up, hungover for the first time in years, with Sister Leliana sitting quietly on the end of her bed, handing her a glass of water.

The two women stared at each other.

“Are you here to kill me?” Elisabeth asked.

“Why would you ever think that?” Leliana asked innocently.

“It’s kind of what you do, Sister.”

“Fair enough.”

More awkward silence.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“No, I didn’t.”

Elisabeth sighed and put the glass of water down on her night table. She tried to piece together what had happened last night - what would warrant such a casual visit from the Inquisition’s spymaster. She’d been angry at Dorian, oh, and she still was, then she’d gone drinking with Varric, which had turned into drinking with the Chargers and Bull. She’d said some inappropriate things about Krem - she’d have to apologise later, maybe with pastries, and she’d played cards with Skinner, and she’d seen Madeline and Jean-Philipe and…

 _Merde_.

“So how can I be of service this morning?” she asked, trying to rub the crust out of her eyes.

“I have heard some fascinating things, Lady St-Laurent.”

“Oh yes?”

“Yes, incredibly interesting things about your illustrious paper collection, and the ease with which you can obtain documents no one else had been able to obtain…”

 _Merde_. Shit. Fuck.

“Alright, alright, my head hurts too much to play the Game right now. Can you just be pedestrian this morning and spit it out?”

The Orlesian in Leliana bristled, but she cocked her head. “I need you to forge a one hundred and eight year old assassination contract from the Antivan Crows, and I need it as soon as possible.”

Something niggled at her alcohol dampened brain.

“Whatever for?”

“We need it to counteract a one hundred and nine year old contract by the _Maison du Repos_ which threatens the life of our lady ambassador.”

The blood drained out of Elisabeth’s face. Hopefully, she thought, the spymistress would believe it was out of surprise and fear for her friend’s life and not, as it was, because she had forgotten all about the assassination plot against Josie. What else was she forgetting? Would more people die because she refused to write anything down?

She’d run away from Kirkwall. She’d been a coward and so many innocents had been killed or injured because of her inaction. What was she supposed to say to Hawke, to Anders… She’d had no money, no contacts, no proof.

Her eyes filled with tears, but Leliana didn’t seem surprised. She’d broken her promise not to get too involved the minute she’d taken a contract from the Divine, the minute she had agreed to come to the Conclave. It had been inevitable that she’d eventually land on the Nightingale’s radar.

“ _D’accord_ , I’ll do it. Whatever you need to save Josie.”

“Perfect.” Leliana stood. “I will have examples and all relevant information in your office in the next hour.”

“My office is locked...”

“Yes it is.”

The Nightingale left her room. The click of the lock, closing from the outside, was very loud.

Elisabeth sighed and hid her face in her hands.

“You think it’s all falling apart, but the stones are still strong.” said a soft voice from the end of her bed.

She looked up at the blond boy, his hat hiding away most of his eyes. “Hi Cole.”

“This is from Varric.” he said, passing her a small bottle with a purple-ish liquid inside.

“ _Merci._ ” She popped the cork lid and chugged it down quickly. It tasted like black licorice and dill, with a tingly aftertaste that confirmed there was also a bit of magic mixed in.

“ _De rien_.” Cole’s accent was terrible, but it made Elisabeth smile. “Those words felt funny in my mouth.” he complained, rubbing at his lips.

Elisabeth sat still, waiting for the potion to kick in, waiting for it to clear the fogginess in her mind.

“It was hard to help from far away, but now that you’re here, it’s harder too.”

“It’s not…” Never mind, he was already gone. “Right, whatever then. I’ll just get dressed and do it then.”

\--

Elizabeth dressed herself in her simplest clothes, not willing to fight with too many laces and trims today. Loose pants, pullover tunic, slip on shoes. She also put on her thin leather apron, and grabbed her grime guards. 

She’d had them made after she’d ruined her fourth expensive shirt with ink and stain. Clothing was much more difficult to obtain here, and there was only so many times she could reasonably ask her servants to try and clean squid ink out of handmade clothes. The forearm protectors were made of the same light leather as her apron, soft but nearly impermeable. They fit like fingerless gloves, but went up her arms to tie around her biceps. They were perfect save for the fact that she couldn’t tie them on herself.

Back in Val Royeaux there had always been someone around to give her a hand, whether it was Michel or Genova in the kitchens. In Skyhold, she usually asked Dorian, but after yesterday, she still wasn’t ready to see his gorgeous, annoying face.

“Why do they all have to be so damned pretty?” she asked herself as she left her room. She’d blubbered like a horny fifteen year old the first time she’d met Isabella, and the first time she’d seen Fenris, she’d blushed so hard Varric still teased her to this day.

Varric wasn’t at his spot near the fireplace, of course. Probably still sleeping in after letting her ridicule herself in front of the Chargers last night. Tricksy mother fucker; Fen’harel had nothing on him.

Speak of the wolf… “Solas, can you please help me tie these on?” she asked, deciding it was less embarrassing to ask a literal ancient elf to tie up her gloves than to try and find Fiona.

“Lady Elisabeth, good morning. What is it you need?”

Elisabeth slid on her gloves, showing him the cord ties at the top. “Could you tie on my grime guards? I would usually ask Dorian, but…”

Solas smiled as he reached up to the laces. “He was a bit of an ass?”

“Indeed.”

He moved to her right side while she looked at the left. He had made a beautiful, elaborate knot instead of something more simple and utilitarian. More hipster than hobo, Elisabeth thought to herself, as he finished.

“I do hope you and Dorian make up. He can be…” Solas paused, looking for the word, “trying, but I do think he means well, under the sparkles and the makeup.”

“We will, once I have some time to mourn the loss of such an important piece of history. We have to keep our heads in the present, don’t we, even when we’re working at preserving the past like we are.” As soon as she had finished her sentence, Elisabeth wanted to take it back. Instead of slapping herself on the forehead, she thanked Solas for his help and climbed quickly to her office, purposefully ignoring Dorian’s alcove.

As promised, a stack of papers were sitting on the desk of her locked office. There were details about the Du Paraquettes’ original contract, a few different contracts that were associated with the Antivan Crows to use as examples, and…

The last page was unassuming, clearly written, and devastating. In Leliana’s tight, reserved handwriting was the addresses of her _atelier_ and townhouse, the pen name she had used to write her more inflammatory socialist manifestos, and the name of the Mother in Val Royeaux who had declared her, as _La Dame D’Argent_ , a heretic and an enemy of the state.

Fucking Nightingale. How long had she known? Not every manifesto and poster that had been credited to _La Dame D’Argent_ were hers, of course; copy cats existed everywhere. Still, _Elf Lives Matter_ was still being copied and redistributed, _My Sister is a Mage and the Maker Loves Her_ had lit a fire under the Chantry’s ass, and a few of her _KEEP CALM AND FUCK THE CIRCLE_ stencils were still in circulation, judging by the message popping up around Val Royeaux, Denerim, and beyond.

Her breath caught in her throat, her hands shaking the page till the writing turned illegible. Would Leliana go after Michel if she didn’t comply? Would she go after Camille? She was just a girl… Elisabeth felt herself spiral out of control, till a single hard knock came at the door.

She shuffled the pages from Leliana underneath another project, and put a heavy inkwell on top. She wiped her face a few times, then opened the door.

Cole was there, standing awkwardly, holding a plate piled high with _brioches_. “Varric said I should try knocking on doors.” he said quietly, handing her the pastries. “The people like it but the doors don’t.”

Elisabeth nodded, pretending to understand. “Cole, can I hug you?” she asked. She still wasn’t sure what she could safely say and do to the spirit boy. 

“A hug will help you, It’ll help me help you.”

He wrapped his long thin arms around her shoulders and she fell into him, crying ugly tears into his roughly stitched leather jerkin.

“Book fixer, soul saver, manifesto maker, story lover, Liz in Wonderland.” he whispered into her hair, petting her softly like a spooked horse. “The Lady is silver but your heart is gold. You don’t help like me, but you are helping.”

“Promise I’m not making it worse?”

“ _Non_.” Cole said. That he managed to incorrectly pronounce such a simple word made her laugh suddenly, breaking her out of her tears.

“You’re such a squishy cinnamon bun, Cole.”

“That’s what I brought you.” he said pointing at the plate. He pointed at himself. “Twice.”

Elisabeth couldn’t help her smile. She could do this. She’d done more impressive forgeries before.

“To work?” Cole asked. “Why was that not in my voice?”

She reached up and held his face in her hands. “Don’t worry about it. Thank you for the _brioches_. Would you like one?”

“... yes I think so.”

\--

Her first task was to read about the Crows and the House of Repose. Luckily, someone had donated a brilliant number of books about a huge number of topics, and with the help of one of the clerks, she’d been able to locate the volumes she needed.

It was important to get a read on the language and tone the contracts typically used. Of course, they came in many different ways. In the same way as a check could be written on toilet paper (gods she missed toilet paper), a contract was legally binding because of the words, not because of the paper it was written on. If she didn’t get the wording right, it wouldn’t matter if she was using the correct shade of dark brown ink.

Looking through the different contracts, there were some words and sentence structures that remained untouched whether the contract was from five years ago or fifty. _On the order’s honour_ , _until fulfilled_ , bla bla bla. She went through three different drafts before presenting one nervously to Leliana, who changed half a sentence and approved it. 

Back in her office, she looked through her papers carefully. If she was going to make them believe that the Montilyets had entered into a contract with the Crows at the start of their descent into relative poverty, she couldn’t use the fanciest paper, but she also couldn’t write it on the back of a napkin. She finally chose a page with a small dog-eared corner that had been an end-paper for a hundred-and-ten year old copy of the Chant.

To make the ink appear to be the same age as the paper, she added a touch of lemon zest at the bottom of her ink pot. It was one of her most elusive additives. She had to make her own from the rare times lemons appeared in the markets of Val Royeaux. Michel was under instruction to snatch them up no matter the price. The mild acidity would break down some of the ink, causing some minor fading that would be explained away with age.

She wrote out the contract, making sure to add era specific flourishes that any noble worth their breeches would have included.

All she needed now was to make it a bit dirty, and to make sure it smelled old enough. She’d tried to find out what type of flora was typically used as decor in Antiva a hundred years ago, but it wasn’t the type of information usually recorded in history books. What she wouldn’t do for a search engine… She’d have to rely on the only ativan she knew.

\--

Of course they were in the war room. Of course she’d have to draw attention to herself by interrupting. She couldn’t just fix books and publish scandalous childrens’ literature in peace, could she?

Still, she knew time was of the essence. She didn’t know if the assassin had shown up in Skyhold yet, but she wasn’t willing to wait till there was a body on the floor of Josephine’s office to get this done.

She knocked on the wicket door, thinking back to Cole’s words. Did this door want to be knocked on?

“Come in!” Josie’s typically-happy voice called out, a little more ragged than usual.

Elisabeth opened the door and her steps stuttered at the sight of the three advisers looking at her with various degrees of inquiry and hostility. Cullen was definitely on the hostile end of the spectrum.

“I’m sorry to bother all of you, but I have a few questions for Josephine that I need answers to as quickly as possible.” Elisabeth explained. Cullen was still glaring. “I promise if they weren’t important I would have waited.”

Leliana nodded to her. “Absolutely, Lady St-Laurent. We can probably use a pause.”

Cullen tossed his clipboard onto the war table in frustration, knocking over a few markers. “Go on, then!” he said tiredly. Elisabeth had a proper look at him. He was pale and the bags under his eyes were more pronounced than they’d been since arriving in Skyhold. She’d thought she’d have more time before the withdrawals got too bad, but she’d also thought she’d have more time before being faced with any of the companions, well, quests.

She’d have to ask Dorian or Cassandra to help her with Cullen.

She pasted on a smile and looked at Josephine. “Just a few questions, please, Josie.”

“Of course, how can I help you?”

“Which is more popular in Antiva right now; nutmeg or cloves?”

Josephine and Cullen froze, but Leliana crossed her arms with a tight victorious smile on her lips.

“Which is…”

“More popular as a flavouring for food, or additive to _pot-pourrit_?”

“Cloves have always been popular…”

“Even a hundred years ago?”

“I believe so…”

“Excellent. Do black lotuses grow in Antiva?”

“Only in the swamplands.

“How would you describe your paternal grand-mother?”

“Is this really necessary?” growled Cullen. “Are we seriously interrupting important decisions about troop movements for her to ask these asinine questions?” His hand was on the pommel of his sword, his grip tightening and loosening out of habit.

“These are important, I promise.” Elisabeth told him. She turned back to Josephine. “Your grandma?”

“My nonna was…” Josie’s lips twisted a tiny bit, unable to hide her discomfort. “She was cold, my father used to say. Her situation had been greatly reduced from the wealth of her youth, and she never quite accepted or adapted.”

Elisabeth wrote a few notes on the back of her draft copy.

“Do you remember what breed of horses the Montilyets used around that time?”

Cullen lost it. “Why are you entertaining this blasted charlatan?” he shouted, and Elisabeth, not for the first time, flinched away from him.

When she’d first landed in Kirkwall, she had considered going to Cullen instead of Varric, for one fleeting minute. Then she saw him, stomping down the cobbled streets, a limp elven mage in his steel grip. She had remembered him as the strong if somewhat shy Commander, but instead had been met with the sight of the angry, lyrium addled Knight-Captain. She’d quickly realised that Cullen, this Cullen who hadn’t joined the Inquisition yet, had too many demons right now to help her. Sometimes, literally.

Surprisingly, Leliana came to her rescue. “Commander, that is no way to speak to the woman with the skills to save Josephine’s life.”

Elisabeth would have enjoyed his sputtering if she hadn’t still been cowering a bit.

“She’s managed to locate a competing assassination contract with the Antivan Crows that may, if the House of Repose chooses to fulfill their contract, lead to an all out war between the two rival assassin groups.” Leliana held her hand out to Elisabeth, who handed her the paper she’d been working on. “It promises the Crows will respond by wiping out any organisation that aims to eliminate any Montilyet. It was apparently drawn up to protect against merchant guilds and buyers’ associations, but it will still be a valid threat against the House de Repose.”

“So why all the inane questions?” the Commander asked.

“So that I can get the stains and the wear to look real. So that the forgery is as real as possible, Commander.” Elisabeth said quietly. “That’s how subterfuge works, sir.”

“I… I thought you were a librarian?” he said.

“That was kinda the point.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> merde - shit  
> maison de - house of  
> D'accord - Okay  
> merci - thank you  
> de rien - you're welcome (it's nothing)  
> brioches - buns


	7. Subterfuge, Silks and Stories

The main problem with having solutions for everyone else's problems, Elisabeth thought, was trying to keep everyone from knowing you had those solutions in the first place.

The secondary issue was having to convince people why your hare-brained plans were totally worth following.

“You want me to give the Commander a book from you?” Dorian asked, holding the small blue volume in his hand.

Elisabeth tried to calm her nerves. “Quiet, please! I need you to give it to the Commander but not from me. I don’t want him to know I was involved _at all_.”

Dorian smiled. “Oh, darling, are you sweet on the gruff, dog-loving - Ow!” He recovered from Elisabeth’s punch to the arm with a laugh.

She had been doing so well; of course the last step would be the hardest. She had started this project four years ago, and it had gone surprisingly well. She had easily befriended many of the scholars at the University of Orlais with her book restoring know-how, and willingness to pretend to be overly posh. When she’d met Phyllis Dubrault, a woman studying the brain and emotions, she had slowly introduced the topic of lyrium withdrawal by talking about her “friend from Kirkwall” and all his strange symptoms. From emotions to addiction, professor Dubrault’s research had quickly taken off - and been discredited by the Chantry. When the professor was kicked out of the university, Elisabeth had hired her herself. As her patron, Elisabeth had even more say over the direction of her research. She had found (fabricated) a Tevinter research paper titled _The Continuing Stress of Traumatic Situations Post Event_ and had quietly pushed Dubrault to consider the effect of this trauma in combination to lyrium withdrawal leading to the near zero recovery rate of lyrium addicts. The professor had found that meditation, the preventative application of elfroot poultices to ward off stress migraines, and the application of mages’ runes of protection against nightmares worked for 85% of recovering addicts. The whole process had gone swimmingly! 

The fascinating, avant-garde research was of course, deemed heretical and illegal, and Elisabeth had had to set up the professor in a quiet town in the Free Marches when a copy of her work was somehow leaked to the Chantry. Still, she didn’t own a publishing company for nothing, and now that the Chantry’s hold on the Templar order was no longer an issue, Michel had been printing a modest number of copies of _Freedom From the Blue Chains_. She had just received three copies for Skyhold, hidden inside a shipment of paper and inks, and now the final step was to get it into Maker damned Cullen Rutherford’s hands.

Four years of work and spy-level sneaking around the Chantry, and her roadblock was that Cullen didn’t think very highly of her and she needed Dorian to be the messenger boy. 

“No, Dorian. He actually doesn’t like me very much at all. Since I believe he may be having significant issues adapting to no longer being a templar, I’d rather help come from someone who he has a chance of taking seriously.”

Elisabeth thanked the stars that Dorian only pretended to be thick, most of the time. He read the title again, then opened it up to the table of contents, browsing the titles slowly.

“ _Slaves of the Chantry_ , _Letting Go of the Guilt_ , _Anticipating the Symptoms_ , _Asking A Mage To Ward Your Dreams_ …” he read out. “I think I see.” 

“Look, the Commander and I don’t see eye to eye on a few things, but that doesn’t mean I want him to suffer because he decided to leave the order.”

“So if someone who wasn’t you were to take this to the handsome Commander…”

“Then it would go a long way towards forgiveness to that particular someone for having destroyed a piece of history.” Elisabeth stood her ground, crossing her arms. 

“It’ll be done. Today, even!” Dorian slipped the book into the back of his belt. “Maker, Liz, you are a hard woman to make it up to!”

She reached out and pulled him into a tight hug. The poor mage floundered for half a second before returning the hug. “And you’re a pretty easy man to forgive, Dorian. Thank you.”

A clatter of footsteps sounded from below. A young boy came up the stairs in a hurry, then skidded to a stop in front Dorian’s alcove. “Lady Elisabeth! Lady Elisabeth! The merchant you asked me to keep an eye out for! He’s here!”

“Brilliant Peter, thank you!” She slipped him a few coins, then turned back to Dorian. “Thank you for doing this Dorian, and please do it soon. I have to go see a man about some silk.”

Dorian waved her off as Elisabeth ran down the stairs with the stable boy in tow.

\--

If it had been up to her, Elisabeth often thought, she would have picked a different spot. Somewhere less isolated where it would have been easier to obtain all the things the Inquisition needed to run. Of course, it wouldn’t have worked, not to escape Corypheus or the meddling of Ferelden and Orlais; still, she liked to imagine a Skyhold that was as convenient as Val Royeaux as far as merchants and markets were concerned. Where she could get _éclairs au chocolat_ without planning for a few weeks to get the right supplies in.

“What do you mean you’ve already sold out?!” Elisabeth said loudly. The man hadn’t even finished unloading his wares from the wagon.

“What I said.” the merchant said dismissively. “I only had a dozen skeins. It’s not like silk thread grows on trees, woman. You’ll have to wait until my next shipment.”

She bit her tongue for a second, calling upon all of her training with the Game. “And when will that be?”

The merchant shrugged at her. It was an exaggerated, sarcastic movement. “Three, four months? If you’re lucky?”

“ _Franchement_...” She had been waiting for this shipment for a month already. She was trying to be supportive to the merchants who were willing to make the trek up to the fortress. Buy local, and all that. Never mind. She’d write to Michel and get him to go to her favourite haberdashery. They knew the stuff she preferred and would gladly ship it to her for the right price.

“Look, lady, if you needed it that bad you would have beat the ‘Vint here. The early bird gets the beetle and all that.” He dismissed her with a frown and went back to unloading his wagon.

Elisabeth brightened despite the brush off. There were only so many Tevinters in Skyhold, and only one of them would have any interest in thread. Of course, that meant she had to go talk to him, like the responsible adult that she was. Right.

She hadn’t spoken to him beyond a few hurried nods and greetings since that evening in the tavern. She’d definitely not been back at the tavern either. She hadn’t allowed herself to act on her crushes or interests in the last 9 years, too afraid to mess everything up.

Varric had gently mocked and encouraged her to find someone, until the day she had accidentally walked in on him and Bianca sharing a dramatically sexy kiss goodbye. Bianca had had the balls to leave with “well, I guess I should get back to my husband”. Bitch. She’d had a short talk with Varric about it, and they’d agree to stay out of each others' love lives after that.

Except now apparently all agreements were off and Varric had been poking at her relentlessly. She wondered if that meant he was done with Bianca and felt she’d have no ammo against him, or if he was just being a jerk.

“Did you see how easily Krem swung his maul today at practice?” he’d ask. “Krem defended an entire village by himself from a dozen bandits today!” he’d announce. “Krem was asking how you were today, Bookworm.” he’d tease.

Elisabeth walked towards the training yard, hoping she would find him there. She would ask Krem if she could buy at least some of the thread off of him, for whatever price he asked for. She needed it to do the book repairs, especially on the older magical books. Wool had too much stretch and cotton wasn’t mercerised in Thedas, so was too rough.

Of course, Krem and his gorgeous lips weren’t in the training yard. She tried to scold herself, reminding herself that he wasn’t a piece of meat to be drooled over; he was also kind and brave and had a softer side and… This scolding was lacklustre at best.

“You looking for someone?” The Iron Bull asked her loudly, a smirk on his face.

Grim and Bull were sparring in the ring, fighting with swords that were taller than her. Considering the only weapons she could manage were throwing knives that were smaller than her palm, she couldn’t begin to imagine the strength required to wield those.

“Ah, yes.” she said slowly, knowing Bull would be analysing her every word. “I was looking for Krem. I need to ask him if I can buy something off of him.”

“He’s not that kind of guy, you know…”

Elisabeth’s mouth fell open as Grim grinned. 

“That’s not… very appropriate…” Elisabeth said lamely. 

“Neither is the way you leer at my Lieutenant…” Bull drawled. 

“I do not…” Elisabeth tried to recover a little dignity. She straightened her back and lifted her chin, which considering Bull’s height, didn’t help her feel much better. “A lady does not leer.”

“I’m not quite sure you are a lady, actually. So! What are your intentions with my second in command?”

Elisabeth had had quite enough of this. “My intentions are to find him and buy silk thread off him. That’s it. If you don’t know where I can find him, I’m done speaking with you.”

The Iron Bull laughed at her. He had a great laugh, but Elisabeth wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it right now. “He’s in the barracks behind the tavern, first door on the right.”

“Thank you Bull.”

Feeling quite ruffled, she headed towards the back of the tavern. She found the Chargers’ section easily, and knocked on the wooden wall loudly. She wouldn’t put it past Bull to send her in knowing that Krem would be half dressed…

“Come in!”

With that rogue thought in her head, she was already properly flushed when she entered the barracks and saw Krem sitting on a simple bunk.

He was mending a truly massive piece of fabric; she could have made four sleeping bags out of it, she imagined. It was striped blue and yellow, and Krem was using a gorgeous golden yellow silk thread to close a ragged tear.

“Why are you using silk thread to fix a tent?” she asked.

Krem snorted a bit. “These are Bull’s pants, Lady Elisabeth.”

“Fucking Maker that’s worse!” She hid her face in her hands and sat dramatically on the bunk across from Krem’s.

He smiled and kept fixing the tear. She watched him as he stitched a perfect blind stitch; his stitches were even, his tension was perfect, and his hands looked so strong and so…

He coughed lightly to get her attention, and she looked back at his face. He was still smiling.

“What?” she asked stupidly.

“I don’t know, you came here.”

“Right.” She was way too old to be acting like this. “I was hoping you’d be willing to sell me some of the silk thread you bought today.” She could see the rest of the skeins next to his thigh. Don’t look at his thighs. “I’m willing to pay double or even triple what you paid the merchant. I use them to fix the books, and silk has the tensile strength to put up with the hide of the older parchment and…”

“No problem.” Krem interrupted. “I’ll just give them to you. I can use something else, they just caught my eye.”

“Oh! That would be great, thank you! I have to give you something in return. Is there anything you want or need? Anything at all...”

They both realised at the same time how open her offer was. He grinned and she blushed, feeling like a twenty-five year old with no sense.

“How about another story? One I’ve never heard before?”

“Just that?”

“Sure.”

Her mind started spinning, listing stories one after the other, trying to pick one. “Cendrillion?” she spat out, after a few seconds of her brain whirring like a top.

“What happens to them?”

“Well she goes to a ball, but before that she lives with her evil step-mother and…”

“Never heard of it, that’d be perfect. Unfortunately, unless the story only takes a few minutes to tell, it will have to wait till after sundown. Cullen wants me to train some of his troops with war hammers.”

“Oh, yeah, that works. It’s definitely a bit longer than a few minutes.” Plus she had to figure out what the heck the Thedas analog to a fairy godmother would be.

“We could meet in the tavern? After sun down?”

“Sure.” she agreed quickly. “One drink though. I can’t expect you and Varric to bring me back to my room every night I go out.” 

“Well quite. Let me escort you back to your library now instead?” He put down the mended pants, picked up the skeins of colourful silks and stood, offering her his hand. “I’ll carry these for you.”

Struck dumb, she took his hand and he led her out of the barracks. She was acting like a dumb twenty-one year old, she decided. Say something, she thought to herself.

“Your blind stitch was really on point.” she said.

“The _suo scalae_? It’s really good for subtle mending.”

“Scalae, like to scale?”

“Yeah, I guess, it translates better to ladder.”

“That makes sense, it’s also known as a ladder stitch; there’s a different type of stitch I use on books that’s also called a ladder stitch…”

They talked about the different names and usages of stitching for the few minutes it took to walk to the stairs in the rotunda. 

Krem handed her the skeins of silks. “See you this evening.” he said quietly.

“Yeah, see you then.”

She watched him go out the door towards the Commander’s office. A sarcastic cough caught her attention.

“I saw that.”

“Thanks Dorian. Shut up Dorian.”

\--

She’d changed into something prettier, justifying it to herself by insisting it was just more comfortable for the warm tavern. She told her stupid fluttering heart that it wasn’t a date for the whole afternoon, for the whole time she was getting ready, the whole walk over to the tavern. 

She was therefore, unreasonably disappointed when she got there and was loudly welcomed to the Chargers’ table by the entire company, Dorian, The Iron Bull, Varric and Sera.

“ _Mea culpa_.” Krem said awkwardly, as she sat between him and Rocky on one of the long benches. “I mentioned to Grim that you were going to tell me a story this evening, and word got around.”

Elisabeth stared down Grim in mock anger. “That’s what happens when you tell a chatterbox.”

Sera cackled loudly, making someone at another table spill their ale. “I heard you tell a mean story, girly. You been holding out on us?”

“What I want to know is how she keeps coming up with stories even I’ve never heard.” Varric complained to Dorian. He already had his notepad out.

“Some of us are better listeners than others.” Elisabeth answered. “Put those notes away. If this gets published it’ll be by my house.” Varric mock-bowed, making an exaggerated show of putting it away.

“Come on, get with it!” Sera demanded.

Elisabeth looked around, noticing she had the whole table’s attention.

It had taken her a while, after she’d gotten over the constant low-key panic, to get used to how quiet and boring life could be in Thedas. Music and theatre were live and infrequent, and fiction books were often shorter, with a simpler vocabulary to make up for the literacy levels.

Some weirdo telling a fairy tale in a pub was drop-everything-and-change-your-plans exciting for these people.

“Once upon a time, there was a happy family.” Elisabeth started. “There was a young girl, her mother, and her father. Of course, there wouldn’t be much to say if things had continued like this. One day, the girl’s mother got very very sick, and within a week, had passed away. The father, heart-broken, sought solace with the neighbour, a widow with two daughters who were around the same age as his daughter.

“After a quick courtship, her father married the widow, who became her new step-mother. Unfortunately, tragedy struck again, and her father took ill, and within the month, had died as well. On the way back from the funeral, the step-mother looked at the young stricken girl. Things are going to change around here, she said darkly. There aren’t enough bedrooms for my beautiful daughters, so you’ll give yours up to the eldest. You can sleep in the kitchen.

“When they got in, the step-mother and the step-sisters started rooting through the house, tearing down the portraits her the girl’s mother, trying on all of her late mothers’ dresses and locking the young girl in the kitchens overnight.”

“What a bitch!” Sera interrupted, only to be shushed by the rest of the table.

“Well quite.” continued Elisabeth. “The only thing of her mother’s that the girl was able to save was a lovely pair of white leather shoes that her mother had worn when she danced. She hugged them tight, then hid them behind the flour in the kitchen. That night she slept in the kitchen. It was so cold that she had to sleep in the hearth next to the embers to keep warm. When she woke up, she was covered in ash and cinder dust. The step-sisters saw how dirty she was and delighted in teasing her. They began to call her Cendrillon because of the cinder dust, and the name stuck. From that day, Cendrillon slept in the kitchens at night, and took care of all the cooking, cleaning and more while her step-family lived the high life and plundered her mother and father’s house.”

“She ought to shank them in their sleep.” Skinner growled

“Somehow,” Dorian said, “I doubt that will happen.”

“Not quite. Cendrillon grew up, a slave to the people who should have been her family. The only thing she enjoyed were the books in the library; her step-sisters thought reading was a waste of time and ignored it. One day, many years later, a footman came to the door, announcing that the prince was inviting all the eligible young women of the kingdom to the castle for a ball the next evening. Cendrillon, being of age, asked if she could go as well. She had always wanted to go to a ball. Foolish girl, her step-mother answered, you are filthy and have nothing to wear, the prince wouldn’t even let you into the palace. The next evening, Cendrillon got her step-sisters ready for the ball as they teased her.

“After they’d left, Cendrillon cried, wishing that someone - anyone - could help her with her wish to go to the ball, just for one night. With a puff of smoke, someone appeared in the kitchen. Hello, said the young man, who had a wide-brimmed hat and a shaky smile. I’m Compassion. I can help you get to the ball, if you’d like.”

“I’m in the story?!” Cole asked loudly, jumping down from the upper floors of the tavern to land noiselessly on the table.

Sera shrieked and swore. “Maker’s swinging tits! Could you not?” A few of the Chargers put away the weapons they’d already half-drawn.

Solas came down the steps of the tavern quickly, catching up the the spirit in a rather more normal way. “Cole, that was truly ill-advised.”

“Chuckles, we don’t usually see you around these parts.” Varric teased as Solas attempted to guide Cole off the table.

“Word got around, Master Tethras, that Lady Elisabeth would be performing.”

Elisabeth shook her head. “It’s just a story, you’re all just starved for decent entertainment.”

“I can be entertaining if you’re hungry.” Bull said smoothly, earning himself an elbow in the gut from Krem. Elisabeth rolled her eyes, but snuck a smile at Krem.

“Anyway, yes, it is someone like you, but, this is a pretend story. I do not expect you to act like this character, I like you just for you. What happens in real life and in stories is not the same thing.”

Cole stared into her eyes for a second longer than was comfortable. “You tell yourself that every day, don’t you? The world is so much bigger than the stories.” He tried to whisper, but everyone near them heard.

“Yes Cole. Have a seat, I’ll finish the story.”

Cole sat as commanded, almost landing in Solas’ lap. The elf moved down the bench a bit with a nearly imperceivable roll of his eyes.

“I can’t go to the ball, Cendrillon said, I have nothing to wear!” Elisabeth continued, smiling at the spirit boy. “That’s easy to fix, the spirit said, and with a puff, Cendrillon found herself clean and dressed in a beautiful ball gown and a pretty Orlesian mask. She spun around, admiring it, and realised her feet were still bare. I can’t do those, the spirit said shyly, they are very tricky. Cendrillon went into the cupboard and pulled out her mother’s shoes. She slipped them on, and the spirit grinned. They like being on your feet best, he said mysteriously. My magic won’t last forever. When you hear the first bell of the last bell, you need to go. 

“With another puff, Cendrillon was at the ball, in the grandest room of the castle. She flitted between groups and conversations like a butterfly, having the time of her life. There, she met a kind young man who she enjoyed dancing with despite not knowing the steps. She danced with him over and over, while they chatted about books. I’d love to show you my library here in the castle, her dance partner said. Oh, you’re the prince! Cendrillon said, surprised. She was about to tell him her name when she heard the first bell of the last bell ring, and she realised her time was up. She quickly apologised to the prince and ran out of the ball, accidentally losing one of her shoes in the process! By the time she’d run out of the palace, her dress had dissolved into rags and the spirit of Compassion had magicked her back into her kitchen.”

“Why couldn’t the spirit just leave her at the ball?” Rocky asked.

“He can help, but he can’t just change everything for her. He’s a spirit, not a genie.”

“What’s a genie?”

“That’s another story.” Elisabeth said, shaking her head. “The prince had never gotten her name, but he had found the shoe Cendrillon had lost. He announced that he was going on a quest to find the girl whose foot would fit the shoe, and that when he found her, he would marry her.”

“Isn’t that a rather ineffective way to locate the girl?” Solas asked. “Does he believe…”

“It’s just a story, Solas.”

“But what if?”

“Just a story!” Cole responded, before Elisabeth could.

She grinned and kept going. “So the prince went from house to house, in a very ineffective way, getting all the eligible girls to try on the shoe. None of the girls who tried on the shoe could get it to fit though. It was too big or too small for all of the feet that tried it on. The prince was becoming despondent, when he came to the house where Cendrillon lived.

“The step-sisters looked at the shoe and knew right away it would never fit their rather large feet. So the eldest chopped off her toes with a butcher knife, and tried on the shoe. It fits, I’ll be a princess! she shouted, but the prince noticed the blood dotting the front of the shoe and took it back in disgust. No, it will fit my dainty foot, said the other step-sister, who had taken the butcher knife and cut off her heel. She swiped the shoe from the prince’s hands and put it on. I will be the princess, sister, not you! she shouted, but again, the prince noticed the blood on the heel of the shoe and stole it back in disgust. Is that all the eligible girls in this house, he asked. Yes, said the step-mother. No! Said Compassion, magically unlocking the door to the kitchen. Cendrillon came out to see what the fuss was about.

I apologize for the state of this shoe, my lady… he said, as he offered up the ruined shoe. Not to worry, Cendrillon said, slipping the other shoe from her apron, I have the matching one. And she slipped on the shoe, and the prince clasped her hands in his. He took her away from the house she had grown to hate, and together they shared many happy years, chatting about books and being kind rulers to the kingdom.”

“But what about the step-sisters?” Skinner asked. “And the mother?”

“The two step-sisters died from their infected self-imposed wounds, and the wicked step-mother remained alone in the house for the rest of her life. Everyone else lived happily ever after.” Elisabeth mocked-bowed to her audience, who began to chatter around her.

Cole was suddenly behind her, wrapping his long arms around her neck and shoulders.

“He helped without killing anyone at all.” he whispered happily near her ear. “Do I need to find you a dress now?” he asked.

“No, Cole, I am perfectly capable of finding my own dresses.” she told him kindly. He let her go and when she turned to look at him, he was gone.

She turned back to the table and felt a hand hesitantly against the side of her hip. “That was well worth the silk,” Krem said quietly, “even if I would have preferred a few less of our friends around.” His smile lit up his face, making her smile too.

“We could maybe try again another time. I’d love to hear your stories, either from the Chargers or ones from Tevinter. We could...”

The door to the tavern slammed over and a harried scout ran in. “Is Lady St-Laurent still here?” he called out, before spotting their group. “There she is!”

Elisabeth stood up quickly, along with Krem and half the table. “What’s happened?” she asked.

“The Nightingale bid me bring this man straight to you after she’d ascertained his identity.” the scout said, waving to a man behind him.

“Michel!” Elisabeth ran towards the elven man, wrapping him in a tight hug before releasing him just as quickly. “Oh god, did something happen to Élaine or Camille?”

The man shook his head back and forth quickly, and she sagged a bit, relieved. Still, his dark eyes were ringed by darker shadows. “ _Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici, d'abord_? What’s happened?”

“I could trust no other with this, _mon amie_.” he said with a thick Orleasian accent, handing her a well travelled but elegant enveloppe. She recognised the seal.

She pulled the letter from the enveloppe with shaking hands.

_Ma très chère amie que je n'ai encore rencontrée,_

_J’ai l’immense honneur de vous convier au bal qui se déroulera au Château d'Hiver de Halamshiral dans le cadre des négociations de paix._

_C’est un privilège pour moi de vous accueillir et j’espère que nous pouvons toutes deux bien coopérer pour nos amis communs. À cette occasion, n’hésitez pas à venir accompagnée (1)._

_Dans l’attente impatiente de vous voir, Dame D’Argent, acceptez l’expression de ma profonde considération. - Briala_

“Holy Andraste’s shits!” Sera gasped over her shoulder. 

Elisabeth tried to clutch the letter to her chest.

“You’re not serious? You can’t be _la_ …” Sera’s sentence cut short as Michel’s knife pressed against her throat.

“Shut your mouth.” He hissed, only noticing a split second later the dagger Sera had to his gut.

“I’d watch yourself, friend.” Bull said loudly. Elisabeth heard the click of Bianca being cocked and realised that everyone in the bloody bar was armed except for her.

“Whoa whoa! Enough!!” she shouted. She put her hand on Michel’s arm and forced him to lower the knife. “ _Ça va, Michel, ça va. Sera ne dira rien d’autre_. Right Sera?”

Sera nodded, pulling her own blade back. “So it’s true…?”

Elisabeth’s minute nod was stiff.

“Shit. Shit!”

“Eloquently put.” Michel said in a tired but posh tone.

“Varric?”

“Yeah Bookworm?”

“Can you please find somewhere for Michel for tonight?” she asked him. 

“Of course I can…”

“Can you do it without pestering him with questions?”

Varric exhaled loudly, mock hurt. “Since you asked so nicely.” He tried to lead Michel away, but the elf grabbed Elisabeth, his eyes wide.

“What will you do?”

“ _Je vais aller me livrer au Rossignol, voir si elle veut me faire chanter._ ”

She nodded to the scout, who had been told to wait for her, and followed him out of the tavern.

“What the fuck just happened?” Krem asked, looking around the table.

“Don’t worry!” Cole shouted down from the rafters. “She said she’d be able to find her own dress!” Then he disappeared.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> éclairs au chocolat - chocolate eclairs  
> Franchement - for fuck's sake (in this instance. literally means frankly)  
> suo scalae - ladder stitch  
> Mea culpa - my fault  
> Qu’est-ce que tu fais ici, d'abord? - what are you doing here then?  
> mon amie - my friend  
> Ma très chère amie que j’ai encore à rencontrer - My dear friend who I have yet to meet  
> J’ai l’immense honneur de vous convier au bal qui se déroulera au Château Hivernal de Halamshiral dans le cadre des négociations de paix - bla bla bla come to the Winter Palace for the ball.  
> C’est un privilège pour moi de vous accueillir et j’espère que nous pouvons toutes deux bien coopérer pour nos amis communs. Pour cette occasion, n’hésitez pas à venir accompagner (1). - bla bla bla, we will help our common friends, you have a +1 on your invite  
> Dans l’attente impatiente de vous voir, Dame D’Argent, accepter l’expression de ma profonde considération. - Briala - can't wait to meet you, Silver Dame, bla bla - Briala  
> Ça va, Michel, ça va. Sera ne dira rien d’autre. - it's okay, Michel, it's okay. Sera won't say anything else.  
> Je vais aller me livrer au Rossignol, voir si elle veut me faire chanter - I'll deliver myself to the Nightingale, to see if she wants to make me sing.


	8. It Seemed Like A Good Idea At The Time

Guilt had always poked at Elisabeth; when she’d landed in Thedas, it gave up on poking and resorted to stabbing. Every person she met she lied to, and every lie begat other lies to make up for the first one. Even people she considered friends and family only knew parts of her. Some of her background was too dangerous, too unbelievable to be mentioned. It would get her burnt at the stake and dissected for science, or perhaps dissected then incinerated.

She had been doing so well, until about a year ago.

She had promised herself she’d stay away from the Inquisition, but then… But then she’d worried about Varric, who had been her first friend. Once she’d arrived, she had worried about what type of person the Herald would be - would they be kind? Would they hunt down rams to feed the hungry, or simply appear at the Crossroads for some face time and leave without helping? Would they be able to be kind to the people who had held them prisoner, or would they never forgive their initial anger? Would they save that damned druffalo?

So she’d stayed a bit longer, just another month, just to finish this project, to see if Blackwall was as intimidating as she remembered.

The next thing she knew she was waking in the snow as Haven burned behind them, and she cared too much to leave any of them in their time of need.

All of that was why, despite her best efforts, she was walking towards the war room.

Leliana had obviously already read Briala’s invitation to the Winter Palace for  _ La Dame D’Argent _ by the time she had sent Michel to her. When Elisabeth had climbed to the top of the tower to see her, like a prisoner walking to the gallows, the spymistress had simply smiled her terribly beautiful smile and asked her to come by the war room in the morning. They had much to discuss, she’d said.

Elisabeth, for the second time, knocked on the smaller wicket door. She didn’t wait for someone to call out before she opened it and walked in.

The room was still gorgeous, but the glares coming from most of the room’s occupants tinted the beauty quite a bit.

“Good morning, Lady Elisabeth.” Leliana said. She was the only one who looked composed at the sight of her. Josephine looked betrayed, Cullen had a scowl on his face, and Mahanon looked at her like she had grown an extra head overnight. He was holding a piece of paper in his hands, hard enough to crease it between his fingers.

“Good morning.” Elisabeth said quietly. She was exhausted. She hadn’t slept, retracing all the different steps she had taken to help while keeping the hell away from the action. Trying to pinpoint exactly when it had all started falling apart. It probably started when she’d gotten within throwing distance of Leliana and Bull, honestly. If only she’d stayed away…

She handed the invitation to Josephine, who shook her head as she read and re-read it.

The heavy silence was finally broken by the Inquisitor himself. “We all thought you were an elf!” he said loudly, his eyes confused.

“I never said I was...”

“The things you wrote would be traded whenever clans met! I remember when I read  _ Elf Lives Matter _ for the first time! It was the first time we had ever seen something defending elves written down, in a shem… in a human way. It was so important that you were...”

“What, it doesn’t count that I’m not an elf?” Elisabeth was suddenly furious. “I have to be an elf or a mage to be able to see the injustice? I’m sorry I’m not who you wanted  _ her _ to be. At least I tried, Mahanon; I just tried to make more people see other points of view. I was just trying...”

Her nose prickled as she shut her eyes tight, willing her tears to disappear. “I was just trying to help.” she finished lamely, her eyes still closed.

“Can someone explain what exactly is going on?” Cullen asked, having clearly missed something.

“Of course, Commander. Lady Elisabeth, you’ll pipe in if I get something wrong, right?”

Elisabeth just glared at Leliana.

“It seems that our favourite book mender and forger has a few additional skills and past times which she didn’t see fit to share with the Inquisition when she joined us in Haven.”

“Like that she’s  _ La Dame D’Argent _ ?” Mahanon asked.

“And more. Yes, she has been the driving force behind the inflammatory literature that has appeared in Orlais and Ferelden over the last six or seven years, but she’s also been funding quite a bit of extra activities as well. She’s been publishing scandalous children’s books, funding the free schools that have opened in most alienages, and has supported research into strange and new topics: lyrium addiction recovery, the explosive potential of lyrium bombs, and ancient elven dialects. She’s worth more than half the nobles we have loitering in the great hall on a daily basis. She even once, according to rumour, killed a Chevalier in the streets of Val Royeaux.”

Elisabeth still had the scar on her hip from his sword. Michel had delivered the killing blow, but she’d given as good as she’d received.

“Did I miss anything, Lady Elisabeth?”

“Yeah, a few things.” Elisabeth was now too angry to be cautious.“We also publish literature for slaves and sopporati in Tevinter. I fund a few teams who hunt slavers in the Northern deserts. The delivery of books that the Inquisition received a few weeks into our arrival at Skyhold was entirely my own personal collection. And I’ve never done a damn thing to risk or work against your Inquisition. So if you’re done trying to intimidate me, I’d like to know what the fuck you want to do with Briala’s invitation so I can get back to my day. I have books to fix.”

Her head was pounding now. She just wanted to be back in the tavern, telling stories, sitting next to Krem. It had been overly warm and her heart had been pounding then, but not out of the angry panic she was feeling now.

She felt a hand in hers, fingers long and strong. She was expecting Cole, but it was Mahanon’s hand gripping hers. “I’m sorry I shouted.” he said.

“Me too.” He had fed the Crossroads. He had forgiven. He had found the stupid druffalo. “It’s just hard having all of your secrets exposed all at once.” she glared at Leliana.

Cullen was rubbing at the back of his neck, Josephine’s lips were pursed tight, and Leliana’s smile had diminished, but not disappeared.

“Now what?” Mahanon said, pointing at the invitation to the Winter Palace. “What do we do about that?”

“She will go.” Leliana said coldly. “She will be a great distraction. We were worried the Inquisition would draw too much notice, but with such a distinguished, reviled figure in attendance, we should be able to divide the attentions of the court.”

Elisabeth tried to breathe, her brain recalling all of the events of the ball; the murders, the trickery, the literal back stabbing. It was exactly the type of place she had been avoiding for the last nine years.

“It would also give us another two pairs of eyes at the palace.” Josephine added. “The invitation we received from Gaspard only includes so many people.”

“I’ll do it.”

Mahanon looked at Elisabeth incredulously. “She’s not a fighter, we can’t ask her to risk her life…”

“I’ll do it for you, Mahanon. I’m sure whoever they decide to send me there with will keep me safe. I don’t plan on doing anything more dangerous than dancing.” She had no way to guarantee that, but what could she do? “What’s the worst that could happen?” she said glumly.

\--

Elisabeth’s nerves had disagreed with the idea of passing by the dinner hall to grab some breakfast, so she headed straight to her office.

Solas opened his mouth and raised a finger at her as she passed by his desk, but he pulled back his hand when he saw her expression. He had a copy of Little Red Hood on his desk. Of course he did. She had overreached, had thought she was clever enough to avoid messing things up, and she’d been wrong.

She got up to her office and found her door was already open. Varric was sitting in her chair, his feet up on her desk. He was wearing reading glasses, flipping through one of the history tomes that she was in the process of preserving.

“I didn’t realise that Denerim’s dress-maker’s district had such a torrid history!” He managed to sound sincere and sarcastic in equal measure.

Elisabeth slammed her door shut and collapsed onto a wooden crate that sat next to her desk. She grabbed her head in her hands, thumbs rubbing at her temples. “Tell me you have your flask on you.”

“Please, it’s not even ten in the morning!”

She looked up; he was already handing it to her. She unscrewed the top and knocked it back, choking at the strength of the alcohol burning it’s way down to her stomach. “Fuck, is this maras lok or something?”

“Not even close, you lightweight.” He took his flask back. “You wanna talk about it?”

Elisabeth stared at her hands. “Did you know?” she finally asked, after a long pause.

“I knew you were her publisher. I hadn’t clicked that you were the one writing it too until Sera put all the pieces together for us. Loudly”

“I was doing so well, Varric.” Her voice was shaking and she was rubbing at her ink-stained fingers. “I’d thought it all through, and then I had to go and get too involved, too close.”

He was reminded of a strange night, nine years ago, when a dirty, panicked woman had come into the Hanged Man, asking for him by name. He had expected a fan of his books, or an assassin; perhaps even both, if it was going to be an exciting night.

Instead, he found Elisabeth, who promised to give him, for free, a story he’d never heard of that he could claim as his own, if he agreed to listen to her ideas for the evening. It was such a strange proposition, he would have probably agreed without the bribe of a story, but he was all too glad to listen - just in case this woman became the story.

She gave him the short version, about a beautiful girl who would become a princess, about a terrible pirate who took no prisoners, and their love story that was able to survive death itself. If Varric was honest, he was hooked as soon as the sword fighting started at the top of the cliffs. She looked so tired, that by the time both of the combatants had switched to their dominant hands, he gently stopped her. He’d set her up in a room above the tavern, ordered her a bath and some dinner, and promised that they could keep talking tomorrow. She’d broken down in tears at his simple kindness and hugged him, clinging desperately to him for a few minutes before she calmed down.

He’d never had anyone be so appreciative for such small acts of decency. It had made him feel terrible and amazing at the same time.

The next morning she had pulled herself together a little bit. She promised to finish the story later, but wanted to talk business. She proceeded to ask very specific questions about the methods for printing books used by the people in Kirkwall. He was no expert, but he could describe the procedure well enough for her to start nodding, looking pleased with herself. “I can improve that and make you a tidy profit, if you agree to share some of the coin with me.” she’d said confidently. She’d then asked about colour printing; painting, you mean? He had asked. She had smiled and described what she called screen printing: a cheap, fast way of printing coloured images, without the need to hire a team of painters to replicate the same image for every manuscript.

When he’d asked her why she didn’t go to the merchant’s guild herself with this she’d gone quiet. “I don’t want to draw attention to myself. That would be the absolute worst thing.”

Now that the attention was on her, he could see that she probably wouldn’t have dealt with the fame, especially not when she’d been as jumpy as a nervous nug.

“Anything I can do to help?” he asked her, taking her smaller hands in his. “Want me to go get Krem for you?” He grinned as he got the reaction he wanted. There was a hint of a smile, perhaps even a twinkle in the corner of her eye.

“You leave him be. He’s lovely, but much too young for me.”

“Sure, right now he’s thinking of how decrepit you are; he’s certainly not thinking of how gorgeous you’re going to look in the ballgown Cole is telling everyone you’re going to look like a princess in.”

That made her smile, despite herself.

“He was right worried last night. You should let him know you’re still alive sometime today.”

Elisabeth nodded, then clicked her fingers. “I just thought of something you can do to cheer me up, Varric.”

“Oh no, I shouldn’t have offered…”

“How about you come read to the kids this afternoon?”

“Yeah, sure, I’ll read them a chapter of Sword and Shields, the one where he rams his…”

“No!” She shoved him away, now properly laughing. “Do you want Mother Giselle to be on my case too? No, read  _ Anyone Can Be A Champion _ , you lug-head. Pretty please, master dwarf? With sugar on top?”

“I don’t know where you get all that sugar… Fine! Fine, I’ll do it!”

“Thank you!” She stood up, happy to have something to do other than stress about her scandalous publications and the upcoming ball. And the fact that everyone would know her face, and that she wasn’t an elf. Enough. “After lunch, in the gardens? I’ll let the sisters know. I’ll see you then, yes?”

“Andraste preserve me, the things I do for damsels in distress.”

“Oh quiet, you grumpy old man. Thank you for being here.” Elisabeth kisses him in the temple and ushered him out of her office. He headed down towards the basin hall, and she headed to the barracks that had been converted into an orphanage and school. 

—

“Where do all these Maker damned people come from, Bookworm?”

“I don’t know, Varric.” Elisabeth lied. “I guess word got around.”

The children were already sitting in a semi circle on the grass, but the alcoves around the gardens were full of people here to enjoy the show. The Chargers had come, happy to try and embarrass the author. Quite a few soldiers and scouts were also there. Sera was sitting near the children on the ground. Cassandra was failing at hiding behind a bulky bush, trying to pretend she wasn’t here to see her favourite author.

Krem came to stand beside Elisabeth as Varric started reading to the assembled children.

“Are you alright?” He whispered next to her ear. His breath was warm against her neck. “I’ve been worried.”

Trying to hide the shivers running down her arms, she nodded, keeping her eyes on Varric; he was holding the book the way she’d shown him all those years ago, making sure the kids could see the illustrations properly.

“I’ll be fine with time, I imagine. We can talk about it later perhaps?” She risked a look at him, and noticed the blush running down his neck. “I would like to discuss something with you. Soonish.”

“Soonish?” He laughed quietly. “Is that a word?”

“Of course it is.”

“Alright, we can discuss things.” She felt him lean in, to huskily whisper next to her ear. “Soonish.”

He pulled away, back to a respectable distance, and she felt the cold air replacing his hot breath.

Soonish.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> La Dame D’Argent - The Silver Lady


	9. Interlude: Anyone Can Be A Champion

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you again to my sister for being an incredible artist, who is willing to listen to me talk about how cute it would be for Varric to write a children's book.

Three years earlier, Val Royeaux.

“... that might be your craziest idea ever, Bookworm. I don’t think anyone will want to read a book that simple.”

“Kids will.”

“Most kids can’t read.”

“They’ll be able to once I get more of them to come to my schools. Imagine, a whole new audience for Varric Thetras books, a whole generation being raised on your books. Starting with something simple, something they can read themselves!”

They were in the library of her townhouse, discussing his literary future over tea and  _ beignets _ . She’d remembered he had a weakness for them. She’d presented her case calmly, showing off books they’d already printed:  _ Ma Seranas Means Thank You _ ,  _ A City Alphabet _ , and  _ The Three Little Nugs _ . Elaine, her secretary, was writing letters and balancing books at a desk near the tall windows, pretending not to listen.

“Why is this so important to you?” he finally asked, trying to understand.

Elisabeth had fidgeted with her hands, in the same way as she had all those years ago, when she’d appeared in the tavern the first time.

“Do you have regrets, _mon ami_?” she finally asked.

“More than I can count.”

“Me too. There are things I’ve done that I shouldn’t have; there are even more things that I should have done but was too scared to do.” She closed her eyes, obviously seeing something behind her lids. “I can’t help all the children I may have hurt with my actions and inaction, but if I can get books into their hands, books written just for them… I can give them smiles, and stories, and knowledge, and hope. I can make them laugh at the antics of clever little nugs, and they can learn new words to communicate with all those around them. With your book, perhaps they can learn that they can be champions in their own little ways. They don’t need to be a powerful wizard or great warrior to be a champion in their own lives, for their friends and families.”

“That’s the sappiest thing I’ve ever heard.” Varric complained. “I’ll do it.”

“I knew you would.  _ Beignet _ ?” she offered up the plate of pastries.

“You don’t fight fair.” he said, stuffing one into his mouth.

“I never claimed to.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> beignet - mini doughnut  
> mon ami - my friend


	10. Outstanding and Extraordinary in Orlais

Elisabeth hated travelling in Thedas.

She loved seeing new places, meeting new people, loved the feel of raw exploration she felt when she arrived somewhere she knew but had never been. She’d travelled to most of the larger cities in Orlais, and had visited a fair bit of Ferelden as well.

Unfortunately for her on long trips horses were only about twice as fast as walking, and though she always tried not to do the math if you included internal combustion engines, she never quite managed not to think fondly of transport that didn’t smell like horse. They should make it to Jader by nightfall; they’d had the convenience of an inn one evening, but had slept two nights in the carriage. It was warmer than outside, but not overly comfortable.

Michel and Krem were driving her carriage while she sat inside with Skinner, who had been sharpening knives for most of the journey. Elisabeth just hoped they didn’t hit too big a bump. She was reading through the notes Leliana had sent her away with; lists and descriptions of people to speak with and what to say to them to cause the most ruckus. It was tedious but informative.

Michel had arrived with the invitation to the ball only a month before it took place. Apparently the invitation had taken a while to weave through Briala’s network of spies, via the Jennies, passed to a few of her agents to finally land at the _atelier_. He had then rushed the invitation himself, driving her carriage through the crossing in the Heartlands, then on to Skyhold, changing horses twice.

It took Leliana and Josephine a few days to figure out who to send with her, what she should wear, and who she should dance with. There were arguments upon arguments, but they happened just as easily without her being there, so she let them figure it out. She had letters to write, projects to finish and a theory to go over with Dorian and Dagna.

It had also given her time to have a proper row with Vivienne, who had been ‘unimpressed’ with her ‘childish antics’ and ‘inflammatory lies’. It turned out that someone had vandalised Duke Bastien’s estate with the KEEP CALM AND FUCK THE CIRCLE stencils; worse yet, it had happened on the eve of a particularly important party.

Elisabeth had, against the odds, resisted laughing cruelly in her face. She had stayed serene, carefully explaining that like magic, the truth was a tool that could be used for both good and evil. She had almost successfully managed to extradite herself from the unpleasant enchanter’s company when Josephine walked up to Vivienne’s balcony and asked her to write a letter of introduction for Elisabeth for one of the premiere tailors in Jader. Vivienne had gone still and Elisabeth had nearly chewed her tongue to keep from laughing.

The tailors currently at Skyhold were busy making the outfits for the Inquisitor’s party, and it was decided that in order to increase the confusion, _La Dame D’Argent_ couldn’t be perceived to be part of the Inquisition. They’d instructed her to get something big, silver and eye catching for herself and her companion.

Watching Vivienne compose the letter was probably as good a revenge on Vivienne as she would get; she didn’t mind losing a customer, but didn’t want the ice queen gunning for her either.

She’d made for her office but had been stopped by Mahanon and Solas who were both leaning over the latter’s desk. “I had a brilliant idea! I asked Solas to draw it.” Mahanon said, holding up a piece of parchment. There was a delicate charcoal portrait of a woman in a mask. Elisabeth could almost recognise her lips and chin. The mask was simple, pale, and was very clearly a wolf.

“What do you think?” Solas asked. “Does it send the right idea about your allegiances?” There was the tiniest hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth.

Elisabeth grinned. “It’s a bit subtle for the Orlesians, but I think at least a few will get it.” She took the drawing from his long, charcoal stained fingers. “It’s gorgeous and I would be proud to wear it.” she told the men. “I’ll have it made in Jader while I wait for the dress to be finished.”

“When do you leave?”

“As soon as Josephine and Leliana decide who my plus one will be. I may not actually make it to the ball by the time they agree.”

“I’ll go see what I can do.” Mahanon had said.

She had a feeling she had him to thank for her current travelling companions. She’d bet money he’d been conspiring with Varric.

The carriage hit a bump and Skinner’s careful rhythm was broken. She dropped her sharpening stone, her grip holding on to the dagger. As she slowly picked it up, she frowned.

“Something not right with this carriage.” she declared, dropping the stone again. The hollow sound it made as it hit the ground was more obvious without the distraction of the bump.

“It’s got a false bottom.” Elisabeth confirmed. She got up shakily, and lifted the seat she’d been sitting on with a click of a hidden latch. It opened up into a standard looking storage space, with a few extra blankets and bed rolls. She ran her fingers along the edge till she picked up a strong string, and tugged the whole storage drawer up. The empty space underneath was almost a foot high, and spread under their feet. “The most we’ve fit in there is four adults; seven kids once though.”

“Huh.” Skinner went back to her blade as Elisabeth went back to her lists.

A few minutes later, the rogue snapped her fingers. “Give me your throwing knives.”

Elisabeth reached into the slit in her dress, spinning her knife belt around to find the clasp. “Finally run out of your own knives to sharpen?” she asked as she pulled out the belt carefully. The four knives were nestled into the leather in pairs, small and thin enough to be hidden across her lower back. Skinner pulled the knives out and scoffed at the state of them.

A few hours later, Elisabeth had newly sharpened knives settled against her back and they were entering Jader.

The city definitely showed off the variety of its roots. Being both this close to Ferelden and a busy port city, it’s architecture was a mix of styles and origins that Elisabeth found refreshing after the homogeneous towers of Val Royeaux. Still, as they headed to the richer part of town, white stonework took precedence again, reminding those who came here that this was still Orlais and some things were just not done.

They arrived at the tailor’s shop later than was really appropriate, but the lights were still on inside; Leliana had sent a raven to let them know exactly how much money they were willing to spend for outstanding work done on an exceptional schedule. If they were really lucky, the tailor would have had time to find a mask maker as well.

“Krem and I will go and meet with the tailor, get our measurements taken.” Elisabeth had stepped out of the carriage as Krem came down from the driver’s seat. Skinner, apparently uncomfortable with being the only one inside, swung herself up to replace him next to Michel. “Can you two go secure rooms at _l’Auberge du Berceau_ and come back to get us in about two hours?”

Michel nodded, sparing a short look at Krem before he set the horses trotting away.

“Right, are you ready to be absolutely charming?” Elisabeth asked Krem with a tired smile.

“Always am. How do you think the Chargers got most of their contracts? I can do charming.”

“I’ve noticed.”

They still hadn’t had a proper talk. Things had moved very quickly after their whispered words at Varric’s reading; plotting, packing, more plotting, then travelling. Trying to puzzle out what they were starting wasn’t easy under the watchful gaze of Michel and Skinner. The two meant well, but were very protective. It didn’t help that Elisabeth had no clue what she’d say anyway.

She knocked on the door and opened it, coming into a brightly lit space with brilliantly coloured bolts of fabric in every corner, a large, high cutting table with three people leaning on it, drinking from porcelain cups.

“Good evening,” Elisabeth said, causing the trio to put down their cups with a bell-like clatter. “We do apologise for arriving so late…”

“Nonsense! You must be Lady St-Laurent! We’re so pleased to have you!” the older man said, grasping her hand in his two. “Communication from our dear Madame De Fer said it was an absolute emergency!”

“She spoke the truth, my dear…”

“Oh, how thoughtless of me! My name is Constantin Auberjonois, easily the best tailor on this side of Val Royeaux.” He pointed to the two women behind him, both elven. “This is my dear assistant Louisanne,” he pulled forward a shy woman who looked in her early twenties, “and as we were told you needed masks as well, I’ve asked along Angeline Jacquemin, _chapelière extraordinaire_. Between the three of us and our team of seamstresses, we’ll get you outfitted for that little tiff at the Winter Palace.”

Elizabeth grinned, liking him already.

“I’d also like to introduce one of my associates who will also need your magical touch: this is my dear friend Lieutenant Aclassi, who will be accompanying me. He’ll need an outfit and mask as well.”

“According to the message that was sent, you need everything to be in grey and silver tones, correct?” Louisanne asked, a sketchbook in hand.

“That’s right, both of us in silver.”

“Are you going for a subtle look or something with more showmanship?” the young woman asked.

“We need to be as distracting as possible; we need punch and pizzazz.”

Constantin started laughing. “One for Louisanne then. She’s the one with the newfangled ideas with punch!”

The assistant grinned, then snapped a measuring tape from her pocket. “Let’s get you two measured up then, at least for this evening. I’ll start sketching tomorrow morning and we’ll meet after midday?”

The _chapelière_ stepped forward. “If you have no other plans, we could meet in the morning to go over any ideas you have for masks. My workroom is across the street, on the second level.”

“That works for us, thank you. I have a few sketches provided by a friend of ours.”

“Perfect. Louisanne will take you through to the left to disrobe and be measured, my lady. If the gentleman will follow me behind the screen here on the right, we’ll do the same.”

There was a half-hiccup of a sound from Krem behind Elisabeth’s shoulder. She turned to Constantin. “My dear sir, will you assure me that these measurements will be taken in a respectful and private manner, for both my friend and I?” Her tone was deliberate and slow.

“ _Je vous l’assure, madame_. Your privacy and comfort will be our prime concern - for both of you.”

With a nod to Elisabeth, Krem started pulling off his leather travelling armour, heading towards the right.

By the time Skinner arrived later, both Krem and Elisabeth had been measured and were redressed. Angeline had left already, and the four of them were now looking through the different bolts of fabrics that had been laid out on the cutting table. Once the tailors found out that Krem knew more about fabric than Elisabeth did, they’d easily included him; he’d rejected a few based on the fall of the drape, one that he thought was too taupe, and he and Louisanne were now discussing the supposed silk content of a particularly beautiful pearly grey.

Elisabeth stood back, happy to let them, already tired for tomorrow.

Skinner cocked her head towards the door.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Skinner is here. I fear we must be off to our _auberge_ for the evening. We will see you tomorrow?”

“That would be perfect, good evening _Madame, Monsieur_.”

With final goodbyes, they left the tailors. Michel was waiting with the carriage.

“Michel, we could have walked.” Elisabeth scolded him, a smile on her lips.

“ _Oui oui, bien sûr._ ”

If she hadn’t been sure he was mocking her then, she was definitely sure when she was jolted awake by Krem to let them know they were at the inn.

\--

Elisabeth was the last to come down to the inn’s main room the next morning, even though she hadn’t slept in as late as she liked to.

“Finally out of bed! I see Skyhold did not cure your laziness.” Michel teased her.

“ _Je m’assurerai de m’excuser pour la gêne occasionnée, espèce d’idiot._ ” she told him sarcastically. The innkeeper appeared with viennoiseries and a cup of tea and her face softened as she thanked him quietly.

Krem leaned into Skinner. “She didn’t really apologise, did she?” he asked. His Orlesian wasn’t bad, but he’d missed that one. Skinner shook her head as Michel snickered.

“What’s the plan today?” Michel asked Elisabeth.

“The plan is to get you on a boat back to Val Royeaux as early as possible.” she answered calmly.

“I’m not leaving, Liz.”

“You are.”

“I’ll go with you to Halamshiral, I’ve already warned Elaine.”

Elisabeth put down her cup of tea, her hand shaking. “You are not setting foot in the Winter Palace, Michel. You’re leaving today.” She took a shaking breath and stood up, aiming to head back to her room, but Michel stood and caught her in a hug.

“Liz, come on, I can help...” he asked in a whisper, as she pulled him away to talk near the stairs.

The two Chargers pretended not to see, but Skinner definitely bumped her knee against his. They also pretended not to notice the fat tears rolling down Elisabeth’s face, and the way she shook against him.

After a few more minutes of tears and harsh whispers, Elisabeth went up to her room. Skinner followed her up quietly. Michel sat back at their table, his face tight. With a quick look around to make sure they weren’t being watched, Krem leaned forward, hands clasped together.

“Ask.” Michel said, quietly.

“There’s something odd about her.” he said, not unkindly, feeling like he was channelling his Chief.

“Not a question.”

“What does she think she knows?” he asked.

Michel looked up, his eyes both angry and tired. “I don’t know details. She has these… she calls them feelings. About bad things happening. Nothing specific. Afterwards, she blames herself.” He snuck a look to the stairs. “She took a sword to the hip for me. She stood in front of her own bodyguard and faced a Chevalier; now she’s standing in the way of me helping at the Winter Palace, because she has a feeling the servants won’t be safe...” 

Skinner and Elizabeth were coming down the inn stairs. Elisabeth was holding Michel’s pack.

“Keep an eye on her.” he whispered quickly. “She’s one of the good ones, but her feelings are never, ever wrong.”

The two men stood as their companions approached.

“ _Tu es vraiment sûre?"_ Michel asked Elisabeth.

She nodded, tears threatening her eyes again. “ _J’peux pas te trouver dans une flaque de sang à la fin de la soirée._ ”

Michel nodded. “Alright, alright. Let’s get me on a boat. You have appointments this morning, correct?”

\--

It was easy to find a vessel heading to Val Royeaux. Krem noticed that Elisabeth didn’t relax her shoulders till the boat her friend was on was out of the bay with the receding tide.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> La Dame D’Argent - The Silver Lady  
> l’Auberge du Berceau - The Cradle Inn  
> chapelière extraordinaire - master milliner  
> Je vous l’assure, madame. - I can assure you of it, my lady.  
> Madame, Monsieur - My lady, gentleman  
> Oui oui, bien sûr. - yes yes, of course  
> Je m’assurerai de m’excuser pour la gêne occasionnée, espèce d’idiot. - I'll make sure to apologize for any undue inconvenience, you idiot.  
> viennoiseries - pastries  
> Tu es vraiment sûre? - you're really sure?  
> J’peux pas te trouver dans une flaque de sang à la fin de la soirée. - I can't find you in a puddle of blood at the end of night.


	11. Making Friends at the Winter Palace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> My sister is the best thing ever and drew Krem and Elisabeth at the Winter Palace. I'm flabbergasted. In a lovely way.

Elisabeth had learned how to play the Game over the last few years living in Val Royeaux. She had learned how to charm and insult the nobles with carefully selected words; often, they were the same word for both purposes. Still, there was a tone to take with the players of the Game, a specific edged sneer that could only be one thing: the tone of a bossy seventeen year old speaking to an idiotic fourteen year old, but who didn’t want to get in trouble with their mother.

“I am so, so happy to hear that, _Comtesse_ , but I fear I’ll be washing my hair that day and won’t be able to come to your _soiree_. Oh, I see someone more important I need to speak to. Ta!”

She walked away from the woman, adding a mental check mark to the list of people she was meant to frumple this evening.

“ _Sanguinem infernum_ , you don’t mince words… is it wise to anger every person you speak to?” Krem said, at her elbow. His smile was friendly but his eyes were serious.

She had been causing quite a ruckus, and while some people were truly angry, most people were highly amused at the shiny unknown nobody causing some people’s smalls to twist up into knots.

She was, also, extraordinarily shiny, despite the general shininess of the Winter Palace. The palace was decorated in gold and blue draping, all warmth that glowed in the light of the chandeliers and sconces. Most people wore complex layered outfits and elaborate headdresses; they looked like animated mannequins wearing the contents of an entire closet.

In contrast, Elisabeth and Krem’s clothing was practically sleek and simple, their masks allowing their natural hair to show through. The silvers and greys of their outfits stuck out against the masses, a flash of cold glimmer among the warm tones of the other guests and their surroundings.

Elisabeth nodded. “I do need to vex a significant number of nobles tonight; Nightingale’s orders. I’m almost done with her list. Please don’t worry.”

“I’m worrying.”

She grinned wide, and tucked her head into his shoulder as if saying something scandalous. “I know, I’m sorry. On the plus side, you look really amazing.”

He really did. The smooth brocade waistcoat highlighted his trim waist, the offset cut drawing the eye. A single metal and leather pauldron called back to his fighter’s background, but also allowed for some protection if he needed to tackle someone. The simple half mask left his mouth and hair exposed; Elisabeth longed to scratch her nails into the short shaved sides of his head. She didn’t, obviously. No matter how scandalous she was trying to be, she didn’t want to embarrass Krem more than she had to.

She was already causing quite the ruckus without inappropriate touching.

The mask maker, Angeline, had been properly shocked when she’d seen the sketch Elisabeth had brought with her. The mask was obviously a wolf, without much ornamentation. It had taken a few hours to convince Angeline that she did know how the elven and Dalish viewed wolves, and that she was sure she wanted to be making that statement in Halamshiral of all places. Part of her cringed at the cultural inappropriateness, while another loved the fact that Solas had been the one to design it.

She’d already caused two elven servants to gasp as they came around a corner. She had wanted to apologise to them both, but had resisted. That would have surely caused trouble for them, and she was here to distract the nobles, not ruin the servant’s livelihoods.

Krem took her hand and guided her back towards the main hall. “I just spotted the signal to check in with Leliana.” he whispered next to her ear. “You look really great too.” he added.

Now was not the time for Elisabeth to be wondering if the mask covered up her blush properly. Still, if it gave the crowds something to talk about instead of keeping their eyes on the comings and goings of the Inquisitor, it was worth it.

They took the long way around the dance floor, nodding to a relaxed-looking Solas, whose amused eyes at seeing his mask in person were strangely endearing. The hat, less so.

They finally found themselves near the spymistress. “Did you really tell the Comte de Cantillon that you’d rather walk your pet turtle through the Frostbacks than dance with him even once?” she said with a smirk.

“Perhaps I did. Seemed only kind to tell him the truth.” Elisabeth said, in Krem’s direction but to the woman behind her.

“Could I ask you, please, to go save our dear Commander… I know he won’t agree to dancing, but at least take him once around the room. I can see him thinking about punching an Orlesian in the face. Tell him I said he couldn’t refuse.”

Krem bowed to Elisabeth. “I’ll go check in with Bull, he’s in the second corridor; come find me?”

She curtsied as he left, and she walked towards the long suffering Commander.

“Commander Rutherford, will you take me once around the room; I seem to have lost my dashing escort and require another!”

The gaggle of Orlesians around the Commander looked at her with disdain, as Cullen himself looked at her, a bit spooked. “I, uh…”

“I was told, by a dark little bird, that you would be amenable.” she hinted, putting out her hand.

“A little bird...” He looked up to Leliana; whatever he saw, he shook off his admirers and stepped forward. “My lady.” She took his offered forearm and led him away.

He was, predictably, awkward. She smiled brightly regardless at the people around them. “Are you enjoying the ball, Commander?”.

“I would rather be attacked from the front than stabbed in the back.” he said darkly.

“With any luck neither scenario will come true tonight.” Her tone was light, but neither felt it.

He looked good in the red woolen jacket, at least. He was one of the only ones; Josephine was ridiculous all bound up, and Mahanon looked like he might drown in all the fabric. The Iron Bull, perhaps unsurprisingly, looked good, though his jacket had required almost three times as much fabric as the others. It helped that he had the thighs to pull off the pants and boots.

In contrast to the Inquisition forces’ heavy outfits, Elisabeth’s dress was almost ephemeral. Layers upon layers of silver gauze twirled around her, tight around her waist and ballooning out gently over her hips. She had gently refused to wear an overly structured dress that would make her look like a _canapé_ , and argued that she needed something softer to weave through the throngs. She didn’t feel like getting caught in a doorway in case she had to run away from assassins. The dress was decorated with a spray of flowers, in cool blues and silvers, adding enough ornamentation to pass Orlesian muster while still being simple. She adored it.

After a few more awkward minutes of silence, as they walked slowly around the room, Cullen cleared his throat. “Did you, uh, did you tell Dorian about any good books, recently?”

“I may have…” she said slowly. “Has he been sharing book recommendations with you?”

“Just one.” He fell into silence again, and Elisabeth didn’t say anything either. She was here to distract and piss off the Orlesian nobles, not him.

“How did you know?” he finally croaked.

Elisabeth took a few breaths, choosing her words very carefully. “I lived in Kirkwall, very briefly. I barely recognised you as the same man when I saw you again in Haven. Then I saw how tired, irritable and pained you looked. I had a friend in Val Royeaux who was a Templar, and who had very similar symptoms. He’d met the author of that book and helped her with testing some of the tips mentioned in it.”

“Did your friend… did he…”

“He has bad days, but don’t we all?” She allowed herself to squeeze his forearm a little, just enough for him to feel it. “He is doing much better. My friend wasn’t always a good man, but with his blood his own, he finds it easier to be the man he wants to be.”

Cullen seemed to be holding his breath. “I see. I…” he looked around, but they were a good distance from the other guests. “I have allowed Dorian to put wards down around my bed.” He whispered the quiet words, like he was confessing to sleeping with the Empress. “It has helped immeasurably. Thank you.”

Elisabeth could barely control her grin, thoughts of the Great Game and appearances thrown out with joy. “I’m glad, Cullen. Truly.” She felt like she was glowing. One of her longest running projects had borne fruit at last! She could only hope…

“Ah, Commander Rutherford, who is your companion?”

Cullen cleared his throat.“Hello again, Grand Duke Gaspard.”

Shit. She couldn’t afford Cullen accidentally using her real name, so she stepped forward, bowing deep and low. “A pleasure, Grand Duke. I am _la Dame D’Argent. I_ t’s a pleasure to be here on such a momentous occasion. Have you had the pleasure of reading any of my work?” she asked him.

“I’ve not had the pleasure of it, but I have read a few.” the Grand Duke responded, his eyes sharp under his mask. “Your take on the civil war is dangerously naive at best. Peace as you describe is an idealist dream that has no place in the real world; a dreamer indeed.”

Elisabeth tried not to bristle. It had taken her a week to piece together the lyrics of _Imagine_ , even longer to get the bard she’d hired to spread the song throughout Orlais’ inns. 

“Dreams of peace are better than the nightmare currently in the Dales.” She felt Cullen stiffen at the mention of nightmares. Poor man. “Still, it would be nice if we could all get along; unfortunately…” And she waved dismissively at the man, up and down a few times with a frown. “Well, let’s leave it at that. I do apologise, but I must run, I’ve neglected my original companion long enough. Grand Duke, Commander.” She bowed again and walked off without betraying the anger she felt, leaving poor Cullen to deal with Gaspard. They could probably chat about armies or something.

She headed towards the corridor where Bull was camped, next to the buffet. She had just spotted the tip of one of his horns when she was grabbed by the wrist and violently pulled behind one of the lush blue curtains. Her yelp was cut off by a hand on her throat, which slammed her head against the wall behind her with surprising force. She saw stars, which rearranged themselves into the snarling face of the elven ambassador.

“Good evening, Briala.” she said with difficulty.

“You shem bitch!” Briala’s left hand was still tight on her throat; her right hand was now holding a short bladed dagger. “You were supposed to be… We _needed_ you to be elven.”

Elisabeth’s heart clenched as Briala echoed Mahanon’s disappointment at her humanity. She could sympathise with their anger, but she’d never deliberately lied to anyone. She’d just been trying to fucking help. “I never pretended to be. I can’t change the shape of my ears any more than you can. What the fuck do you want me to do?”

The knife flashed and slipped into her shoulder, sliding past her exposed clavicle, straight down into her chest. The hand gripping her throat stopped her from yelling out. “You mock us. I want you to suffer even a fraction of what we have before you die.”

The knife was pulled from her flesh, the hand was pulled from her throat, and Briala disappeared, leaving Elisabeth to slip to the floor, grabbing at her shoulder. There was no pissing blood, so she figured the knife hadn’t nicked an artery, but as her breath gurgled, she realised her lung had probably been damaged.

Come to the Winter Palace, they said. It’ll be fun, they said. Elisabeth noted somewhat distantly that no one had ever said she’d drown in her own lungs.

“She’s here! She’s here!” She heard a soft panicked voice say. The curtain was pulled aside and Cole stepped into the alcove, only to be shoved aside by a frantic-faced Krem who fell to his knees next to her. 

“ _Kaffas_ , Liz! What’s happened?”

Elisabeth tried to tell him, but it seemed a breathless whine was the only thing she could manage. He pulled off her mask, checking her face for damage. His eyes fell on the straight clean line bleeding in the well of her clavicle. 

“She was stabbed.” Cole picked out of her mind. “She’s breathing in... drowning in blood.”

“Chief, you have a healing potion?”

“Of course. Here.” 

Krem plucked it out of his hand as Cole knelt down on Elisabeth’s other side. “They don’t work for her well.” He said, since she couldn’t. “Still it’s worth trying.”

“Cole.” Bull said sharply. “Go get Solas.” Krem was already delicately pouring the potion into Elizabeth’s mouth. 

“Yes.” He’d already disappeared when the word hit their ears.

“Hold tight, Liz." Krem said, holding her up. "I’m right here, and we still have to talk about a bunch of stuff tonight: about different stitches, and how you manage to be so rude without swearing, and how lovely you look. You’ve got to hold on just another moment.”

Elisabeth coughed, and she felt Krem’s thumb wipe away the blood that had leaked from her lips. She tried to convince her lips to smile, but she wasn’t sure if she’d managed it.

Solas pulled the blue curtain aside and swore under his breath, pushing past Bull into the alcove. His hands were already glowing a cool minty blue by the time he touched her shoulder, his healing magic trying to sink into her damaged flesh.

“I’ll stand guard.” Bull said calmly, though his eyes lingered on the scene for a few extra seconds before drawing the curtain back.

Elisabeth coughed again, more blood coming up from her lungs and dribbling down her chin.

Solas’ brow was dotted with sweat. 

“Why is it taking so long?” Krem asked the elf, noticing that the stab wound was still open.

“She’s incredibly resistant to my magic.” Solas said with a grunt. “I’m having to pour three times as much raw fade into my spell just to get her body to respond.” He took a deep breath and pushed again, his hands starting to shake. “Tell Bull to find me lyrium.”

“On it.” Said the Qunari’s voice from beyond the curtain. 

“She says she’s sorry.” Cole said quietly. “Magic never worked right for her. She says not to worry; it’s her fault, she was never meant to be here anyway.”

“Shut up!” Krem barked at the spirit boy, louder than he intended. He turned back to Elisabeth, lowering his voice. “None of that now, Solas is going to get you patched up and then we’ll go rest, alright? No more balls, no more nobles.”

“Lyrium.” Bull said plainly, his arm thrusting the bottle behind the curtain. Cole grabbed it and passed it to a pale Solas, who downed it in one long gulp. 

The extra burst from the potion seemed to push something through, and he hummed softly as the gap in her lung finally closed.

Elizabeth took a long, shuddering breath as Solas released his magic. The slit above her collarbone was now just a scab, though it ached deep under the skin. 

“Thank you.” The whispered words caused her to start coughing, and Solas put a handkerchief in front of her mouth as Krem supported her upper body. She pulled the blood splattered white cloth away, and Krem pocketed it. 

“Who did this?” he asked her. 

Elisabeth shook her head.

“Briala.” Cole answered for her.

She shot him a dark look. “Don’t tell Mahanon yet.” she whispered. “There’s still a chance of a peaceful resolution, one that might involve Briala. Her actions towards me shouldn’t affect that.” Krem and Solas’ frowns were telling; they weren’t happy, but they nodded nonetheless.

Bull pulled aside the curtain. “Boss needs us.” He said softly. “Are you able to fight, Solas?”

The elf stood and nodded. “I will be fine, The Iron Bull.” He turned to Krem. “Get her to rest and stay still. I’ll come check on her once the ball is over.”

Krem nodded gravely as Solas and Cole exited the alcove. He gently pulled Elisabeth up, letting her lean against the wall as he picked up the wolf mask off the floor. He set it onto her face, carefully tying it back into place. He let his fingers linger at the base of her hair, then leaned in, his masked forehead pressing against hers. 

“Let’s get out of here.”

“I don’t belong here…” she said quietly, her gaze not quite focusing through the mask. She was paler than he liked seeing. 

“None of us do. Come on, we’re leaving.”

They walked through the Winter Palace, head high, and though everyone noticed that her companion was holding her tightly around the waist as they left, holding her up, no one who was left behind cared about it. 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> (we're going with Tevene is latin, cause it sounds pretty)
> 
> Comtesse - countess  
> Sanguinem infernum - Bloody hell  
> canapé - love seat, couch


	12. Broadcasting Anxiety on All Channels

There had been a few times in Elisabeth’s life when she’d found herself completely overwhelmed, when she’d wondered how she’d gotten herself into this mess. Her first month at university had felt like that; so had the first year she’d spent in Thedas. She’d had a taste of it when Haven had fallen, and just a smidge when she’d entered the Winter Palace.

The feeling was back in full strength though when she woke up in a moving covered cart in clothes that weren’t her own. It was warm and dry. Possibilities ran through her head: she was dead and hell wasn’t that bad, she’d been kidnapped, she’d booked the worst cruise ever…

Whatever trouble she now found herself in, she couldn’t do anything without information. “Hello?” she dared say as loud as she could, though her voice cracked.

She heard footsteps and an Inquisition scout popped up at the foot of the cart. “You’re awake! I’ll tell the Inquisitor right away!”

She had so many questions, but her breath caught in her throat and she started coughing loudly. The noise attracted a few more scouts, one of which handed her an open water skin. The water was warm, almost hot, but she drank it quickly anyway, only slowing when a hand pushed the water skin back down, with a gentle murmured “whoa, easy”.

She opened her eyes and looked into the Inquisitor’s harried ones. “Hi Mahanon.” she said quietly. “Where are we?”

Instead of answering, he sat down next to her, shaking his head slightly as he stared at her, not unkindly. He had a sad smile on his face.

“What?” She wished she had anything more intelligent to say, but she was too lost to pretend to be clever right this minute.

“You told me the most dangerous thing you’d do at the Winter Palace was dance.” he said. “You never mentioned pissing off half of Orlais and getting stabbed.” One of his elegant eyebrows was raised high.

“I didn’t plan on being stabbed, to be fair.” It sounded lame to her own ears. “I was tasked with being distracting.”

Mahanon was not impressed. “Oh, you were distracting alright. You’d lost consciousness by the time Krem carried you into your carriage. When you’d wake briefly, you’d try and go back to the Winter Palace to save Celene, according to you. You reopened the wound in your lung twice. We ended up having Solas put you into a deep sleep to keep you from messing up his hard work. Putting you to sleep drained him so badly he had to sleep for two days...”

She was struck with how young he looked, how tired; he was twenty-four and leading an army. She hadn’t even lived by herself when she was twenty-four, still studying and rooming with two friends. She’d had a part time job in a pub.

“You went on a mission without telling us you were resistant to healing potions and magic.” It was an accusation, one with more sadness than anger.

She shrugged but stayed silent; she had no idea what to say.

“Solas drained himself trying to heal you. I’ve seen him turn three rage demons into icicles, smash them to pieces with his staff and turn around and heal a sword wound without more than a few minutes pause. This resistance was critical, need to know information, Elisabeth.”

She finally found a question that needed an immediate answer. “What happened at the peace talks?”

“What?”

“What did you do?”

The Inquisitor sighed. “Gaspard was executed. Celene and Briala rule together, though why no one told me Briala stabbed one of my people before I put her on the throne…”

“I told them not to tell you. She was important to the peace talks. I wasn’t even supposed to be there. I’m not as...”

“Important?” Mahanon stood up, suddenly more upset. “Tell that to the three assassins we had to stop from killing you while we moved out of Halamshiral.”

Elisabeth paled. “Assassins?”

“Yeah, one from Briala, one from a noble, and one we think was just an angry city elf.” Mahanon jumped out of the cart. Elisabeth looked outside properly for the first time since she’d woken up; the dirt outside was red, and the trees and bushes were sparse. “We’re on our way to the Western Approach.”

“What? Why am I here?”

“Josephine and Leliana thought it was best to get you out of the public eye for a bit while things cooled down.”

“I can’t go to the Western Approach, Mahanon! I don’t even belong…”

“You do belong with the Inquisition.” he interrupted. “You have as much right, and as much duty, to be here as any of the other people here. We’ll find something bookish for you to do out here, don’t you worry.”

That wasn’t her worry, she thought as he left, but she wasn’t about to say it. There were too many dangerous things crawling around the region. There were giant lizards, crazy cultists, darkspawn and demons. This place was a nightmare… Her brain stuttered on the word. Nightmare. Adamant. Nightmare.

She felt herself freeze up as she realised once again how fast everything was going. How fast they were hurtling towards blood rituals, demons, falling down into the Nightmare’s realm… Why had she burned her notes, all those years ago? She’d written it out when it was fresh in her mind, in agonising detail. She was so afraid of forgetting something, something small, something she could change or could have changed already… Something to stop...

“You remember watching them all die. You sacrificed them both, one after the other, to make it fair.”

She didn’t usually mind the spirit, but now was not the time. “Cole stop.”

“You’re being too loud.” There was an edge of resentment in his voice.

“Liz, you’re awake!” Strong arms and the smell of leather and warm skin wrapped around her. Krem had climbed into the cart with her and Cole. She leaned back into his chest, gripping his wrists in her hands. She squeezed him to her, her mouth resting on his skin. “You weren’t getting better, I was afraid you’d never wake up.” he said into her neck, the side of his head leaning into hers.

“I’m pretty sure he hasn’t slept in weeks!” Bull laughed. She noticed that both Bull and Solas were following the cart. Both were smiling broadly at her, but all she could see was them falling into the fade. She tore her eyes from their happy expressions, only to come face to face with Cole who had knelt right in front of her.

“...falling apart, falling down, everything is falling down, my fair lady.” Cole sang. “They’ll fall, then they’ll die, then it will fall, and more will die.” He echoed the thoughts she was trying to hide from, and she pushed back into Krem, trying to get away from the blond boy. “You don’t belong here, you don’t fit, how could you hope to belong?”

“Shut up…” she whined, “Cole fuck, stop.”

“Cole, that’s enough.” Solas tried, tugging on the boy’s patched sleeve.

He tried to tug back. “Don’t fit, don’t belong, should have just let myself die nine years ago… my fair lady!”

“Enough Cole!” Bull barked. When Bull tugged Cole actually fell off the cart, smacking down into the dirt and rocks. Solas knelt down next to him, both picking him up and holding him back.

Krem held Elisabeth back. She was shaking, her lips pressed tight, like that could stop Cole broadcasting her thoughts. Like it could stop her thoughts tumbling, falling, falling…

“... my fair lady!” Cole shouted, now several lengths behind the cart, being taken away by a distraught Solas.

Elisabeth felt herself sag and just let herself weep in Krem’s arms. 

—

It was dark outside when she woke up with a start. She was in a canvas tent, under a pile of blankets. She tried to recall how she got here, then suddenly remembered her breakdown and Cole pulling all her anxieties and fears right out of her head. She couldn’t recall exactly what he’d mentioned but he had said all of it in front of Bull and Solas.

“Oh Cole…”

“Hey, are you feeling a bit better?”

She turned her head and noticed Krem, who was sitting up on the bedroll next to hers, stitching a small bundle of fabric. He’d paused his sewing, looking at her.

“A bit. I’m going to need to apologize to Cole.”

Krem made a strange face, somewhere between disbelief and sadness.

“It’s not his fault, Krem. He looks like people, but he’s still at least partially a spirit.” She shook her head. “He was just announcing my issues publicly because they were too loud for him to ignore.”

“Is that why he was telling Solas you wouldn’t be mad, because he was your cinnamon bun?”

Elisabeth tried not to grin. “Yeah, he is.”

“So what do I have to do to become one of your cinnamon buns?” He put down his sewing and edged closer to her, running his fingers over her arm slowly. “I know you apparently think you don’t belong, but you obviously do.” he said quietly. “You have a place with Michel in Val Royeaux, you have a place in the library with the Inquisition… you could have a place with me, if you’d like, as well.”

Her mouth hung open, as she tried to find a reason that would convince him, and maybe herself, that it was a bad idea; she shouldn’t get attached, she was too old, she was too weird. She might disappear one day as strangely as she had appeared.

“No one else will talk to me about fancy stitches, Liz. No one else calls me handsome and brings me to fancy balls.”

He smiled at her and she felt her feelings thaw, unable to voice any of her objections. “I think I’d like that.” She finally said, despite her reservations. 

“We can take it slow if you want.” His fingers were still just gently stroking her arm.

Elisabeth nodded, feeling overwhelmed. “It’s been a long time since I let anyone get close. Since I’ve done anything with anyone.”

It had been almost nine years. She’d been sure she could do it, have a fun night, with no strings with Isabella. No strings was what Isabella was good at. She’d thought she'd be able to separate the character from the person. The major guilt-ridden breakdown she’d had in the morning had proven her quite wrong. It had actually hurried her departure from Kirkwall. Varric had briefly thought she’d caught unrequited feelings for the pirate. How could she tell him her heart was breaking for all the people that would be affected by Isabella’s actions?

“I feel like…” She paused and tried to put into words the overwhelming anxiety she was feeling. “If I let anyone too close I’m afraid they won’t be real; that they’ll disappear.” Because none of this was possible, none of it conceivable by a normal mind.

She’d been doing so well.

“Can I kiss you?” Krem asked quietly. “I promise it’ll be a real kiss. No dream kisses here.”

She nodded and he leaned down, letting his forehead rest gently against hers. Despite the chilly night, Elisabeth felt overly warm already. He lowered his lips slowly, giving her every chance to back away. A tiny part of her did, but the rest was too busy trying to remember how to breathe; he had such nice lips, and though he was gentle, she felt her heart hammer as he kissed her.

Almost too soon he pulled back, making her inhale sharply. His beautiful lips were curved in a beautiful smile, just shy of cocky. “Can I sleep here tonight?”

“Isn’t this your tent?” she asked him. Last time she’d woken up in a cart.

“Only if you agree to me staying.”

She laughed and pushed him away playfully, back onto his bedroll. “That was remarkably smooth, Lieutenant!” She sobered up a bit, but didn’t stop smiling. “Of course you can stay. Make sure you’re comfortable alright?”

“I’m comfortable when you are.”

“Oh, that’s enough! There’s only so much charming I can handle at once!”

He chuckled and laid down, letting his body curve towards hers. Their hands were touching, a few of her fingers caught in his. Even though Elisabeth wanted to stay awake, she was still exhausted, and her sleepy smile easily turned into comfortable sleep. 

—

They spent the next week sharing a tent, and both being teased mercilessly by Bull, and, when they arrived with the rest of the Inquisitor’s companions, Varric and Dorian.

“Well!” Varric said that first evening, walking up to the main fire. Elizabeth was holding a book and reading, sitting between Krem’s legs as he read over her shoulder. 

She dropped the book and glared at her oldest friend in all of Thedas. “Yes, Varric dear?”

“Oh nothing! It just looks like Dorian owes me money. He didn’t think Krem would make a move before getting some lessons in seduction from him.” He explained, winking at Krem. 

Krem sighed, and after a quick kiss under Elizabeth’s ear, stood up. “I need to go have a chat with the Altus.”

“Don’t rough him up too much, Kremsicle.” Bull said loudly, from the other side of the fire pit. “That’s my job.”

“Whatever you say, Chief!”

He walked away to find Dorian, and Varric moved in to sit next to Elizabeth.

“So, Bookworm, I hear things got exciting at the Winter Palace?” he asked, knowing full well the answer already. “You going to tell me why you didn’t tell the advisors about your weird magic resistance?”

“Didn’t you just get here?”

“I hear a lot of things. Like how you got stabbed. And how healing you almost knocked out Chuckles. Twice!”

“I’m fine now…”

“Sure, sure. You’re fine which is why you’re in the ass-end of a desert instead of in your cozy library.” His unimpressed expression made her smile, despite his words.

“There may have been exacerbating circumstances.”

“Assassins.” Bull says calmly. Of course he was listening. “She means assassins.”

Elisabeth huffed. “Andraste’s thigh-gap, Bull, can you at least pretend you’re not eaves-dropping?” 

Bull chuckled and stood up. “I’m going to go find the Crème-de-la-Krem, make sure the Tevinter boys are still behaving.” He walked off into the mess of tents that had sprung up nearly overnight. The Inquisitor’s companions who hadn’t been at the Winter Palace had come with two dozen soldiers and plenty of supplies. Mahanon intended to establish an Inquisition presence in the desert, and Elisabeth knew he had been out in the past few days, cleaning up as he went, clearing the way of bandits and Venatori. There were whispers of trying to take the ex-Grey Warden keep and moving the army there. Most people were excited to be indoors in the evenings.

Elisabeth didn’t mind being in a tent, if she had Krem’s warm body to snuggle against. She looked off in the direction Bull had disappeared, wishing she had his strong arms around her now.

“Don’t think I don’t see that look in your eyes, Bookworm. That’s another conversation we’re going to have.” Varric waggled his eyebrows up and down energetically. “I thought you said Mister Pretty Lips was much too young for someone as decrepit as yourself.”

“Oh, shut up you.” 

She wrapped her arms around his wide body, and he hugged her back, tight enough to make her breath hitch.

“Don’t do that again.”

“Do what?”

“Get stabbed. Almost die. Scare the shit outta me.”

“I’ll do my best, I promise.”

Varric sighed. “Go on, go find your lover boy.”

Elisabeth grinned, feeling herself blush. “Maybe I will.” She stood and dusted off her leggings, then ducked and dropped a small kiss onto the top of Varric’s head.

“Don’t make any ‘Vints jealous now!” he laughed.

She rolled her eyes but smiled and took off in the direction Bull had gone. The camp was so much more alive now that it had more people in it. She could see Vivienne’s bright white fancy tent in the distance, and she could hear the pounding of a hammer on metal as a blacksmith worked on a piece of armor, somewhere to her left.

To her right she heard a sharp, wet sound, and she turned quickly to see Bull holding a scout up by the back of their uniform, his other hand holding the dagger he’d just shoved up under his chin, into his head. He said something softly in Qunlat, but she didn’t catch it.

Bull did catch her gasp though, turning his head quickly to see who had surprised him. He released the scout’s jacket and put a finger to his lips, shushing her.

The scout’s weight settled onto the dagger, digging the blade up further into the man’s brain. Elisabeth was frozen. She thought the scout’s name was Brian. She was sure she had seen him in Haven. And now, he was convulsing two feet off the ground, his eyes rolling back, blood coming out of his nose and mouth.

Voices were getting closer, and Bull pulled aside a tent flap, checked inside and tossed in the still warm body. He wiped the bits of blood that had splattered on his hand on the back of his pants and swung one of his large arms around Elisabeth’s shoulders.

She stiffened under his grip, and as Dorian and Krem appeared around a tent he lowered his head till it was touching hers. “We’re not gonna mention that, right?” he asked, with a cold edge in his voice.

“No.” she said, automatically hating herself.

“Good.” He stood up straight and greeted the two men. “There are our boys!” he called out, all of the usual warmth back in his voice. “The little lady and I were getting cold without our foot warmers!”

“Maybe you should put on a shirt, then, you oaf.” Krem said, stealing back Elisabeth from his boss and wrapping his arms around her. “You’re shivering, you _are_ cold.”

“Get her warmed up, Kremsicle. I can give you some hints if you want!”

“Shut it, Chief. Let’s get to bed, you’re maybe tired.” Krem said, holding her tight. She nodded a few times, not trusting her mouth.

“She needs to get plenty of sleep!” Dorian said, batting away Bull’s hand as the larger man tried to sneak a hand onto his waist. “The Inquisitor cleared some impressive ruins today, with yours truly’s help, of course. You and I and a few others are going to be going through it in detail. There are apparently lots of books and scrolls that require evaluating and cataloguing, and Mahanon thought you might appreciate being busy.” 

“What ruins?” She asked, though she had a thought.

“The scouts are calling them the Still Ruins, because of the tricky time magic we discovered when we got there.” Dorian pushed away Bull’s hand again, but inched closer to him. “We leave tomorrow, and we’ll be spending a few days. Don’t worry, you’ll be safe there; we’ve already killed all the demons and assholes who’d called it home. It’ll be as safe as this camp.”

Elisabeth was pretty sure she’d said something to Dorian before being led away to the tent she shared with Krem. 

“Liz, are you okay?” he asked, as she sat down on her bedroll. “Did Bull say something rude to you?”

She shook her head. “It’s nothing, just nervous about these ruins.”

“I’m sure Dorian can protect you from any spiders left lurking around.” he said, smiling as he took off his armour. In this heat he was only wearing leather pieces. He reached under his shirt and began automatically unlacing his binder, before realising that Elisabeth was looking at him and he froze.

They’d danced around the topic of his body; she knew that he knew that she knew. They hadn’t done much beyond kissing, and Elizabeth honestly didn’t mind. She was out of practice and was finding that she cared too much to rush.

“I’m comfortable as long as you are, alright?” she said quietly, trying to reassure him. “You lead. If you need me to read a book for a minute, just tell me.”

It took a beat, and then two, but Krem started moving again. His fingers worked at the laces, finally pulling them free. He pulled the binder off without removing his shirt, the noise he made reminding her of the noise she’d made removing a spandex bra after the gym.

She held her hand out to him and he took it, letting himself be guided down to the bedrolls. He smiled at her, but there was a dash of uncertainty in his eyes she didn’t like to see. Even though she was terrified and needed him to wrap himself around her, he maybe needed her more. She could be the big spoon if he needed her.

“Sleep, dearest.” she kissed the short hair at the back of his head, which was starting to get a bit long as their trip out of Skyhold stretched into its second month. She whispered songs in Orlesian into his hair as he held her arms tight with his.

\--


	13. The Problems With Ruins

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> She's been trying so hard...  
> TW for anxiety attacks and such

It was ridiculously hot when Elisabeth and Dorian arrived at the Still Ruins. They were accompanied by Solas and Seeker Pentaghast, as well as a few scouts who were there to replace the ones hastily left behind the week before. The Inquisitor was tearing through the desert, trying to stabilise things. They were expecting to stage an attack on Griffon Wing Keep by next week.

Once they’d left the scouts in the outer court, Dorian turned dramatically to Elisabeth.

“So, Lizzie, darling, how are things going with your young man?” he asked loudly, with a grin lighting up his whole face.

Elisabeth realised that both Solas and Cassandra had tilted their head towards them, listening intently without any shame.

To be fair, it was hard to miss the kiss Krem had laid on her before they’d left the main camp that morning. He had just helped her into her large backpack, when he spun her around, leaving her off balance. With a glimmer in his eyes he’d dipped her and her backpack, kissing her soundly. Without a strain he’d pulled her back up to standing, leaving her red and breathless as the Iron Bull whooped in the background.

She’d managed a breathy “I’ll miss you too” before being dragged off by a snorting Dorian.

Now that they had relative privacy, Dorian was going to get his juicy gossip if it killed him.

“They’re good. We’re taking things slow.”

“That display was taking things slow?” Cassandra asked, surprising everyone else. She flushed as soon as she realised she’d spoken out loud.

“Seeker, you shock me!” Dorian gasped. “Have you been spying on our resident book binder and lieutenant?”

Cassandra grumped. “As if you’re any better with Bull, Dorian!” 

“One does not even need to spy to spot them.” Solas said with half a chuckle.

Elisabeth smiled broadly. She was still somewhat embarrassed, but now so was Dorian, who didn’t seem ready for the discussion to spin back onto him. He huffed, but took her arm and led her towards a pile of rubble that had once formed the ceiling of the great room they were in. “Let me tell you how this place looked when we got here…” he said, leading her through. 

As he prattled on elegantly about time magic and architecture, Elisabeth half listened. Although all the Venatori bodies had been removed, there was still drying blood splattered all over the floor, giving the ruins a rusted vibe. The coppery smell of blood still lingered, reminding her of the previous night and Bull’s vicious killing of the scout. She kept forgetting little things; she was so caught up with the everyday that she’d forgotten that he was still Qunari, still a spy who had to kill whoever he was commanded to. What if the Qun found issue with the Inquisitor, or Dorian? Or...

“This is where the rift was.” Dorian said, his quieter tone pulling her from her thoughts.

“How big are rifts, usually?” she asked. She’d never seen one in person, thank goodness.

“They’re usually as wide as two men.” Solas piped up. “We’ve encountered ones bigger and smaller; it often depends on the state of the Veil.” He knelt down next to next to a large stone ornament that looked like a globe that had merged with a large Rubik's cube. It was shimmering slightly in the broken up sunlight. “I’m going to make sure this artifact is functioning properly. Please let me know when you have found a suitable spot to spend the night.” He sat next to the device and shut his eyes.

“Ideally somewhere that hasn’t recently collapsed.” Cassandra complained, pushing aside rubble that was blocking a staircase.

“I remember some side rooms in the next courtyard that seemed structurally sound.” Dorian said, leading Cassandra away. 

Elisabeth stayed behind, looking at the ceiling, trying to imagine the stones suspended in mid-air. She walked around slowly, taking in the gorgeous-if-shattered architecture, until she almost stumbled, her feet glued to the parquet. She looked down and lifted her foot. Green goo stretched between the floor and her sandal, stretching like transparent bubble gum.

She looked behind her. She hated to interrupt his meditation, but Solas was the only one around. “Solas?” she said softly. No response. “Solas!”

He jolted out of his trance state with a frown, but it faded when he saw Elisabeth’s concerned face. “What is the matter?” he said as he stood smoothly.

“I’m a bit stuck in this… stuff.” She pointed down and attempted to lift her foot to demonstrate.

He opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, his face settling into an amused expression. “Most people avoid stepping in demon ichor.” He approached her, attempting to figure out which angle would work best to extract her from the sticky mess.

“I’m obviously not most people, Solas.”

“Indeed. Pardon my reach.” He slipped his arms under hers from behind, and tugged hard.

They tumbled backwards, landing in a heap, both of them trying not to laugh. “What is ichor anyway? Does it always smell this bad?” She undid her sandals, looking at the mess on the soles in disgust.

Solas stood and extended a hand to help her up. “What do you mean, a smell?”

It smelled like freshly laid asphalt, the black pebbled stuff they scooped liberally to fill _nids-de-poules_ in the roads. It smelled like patched sidewalks and too warm sun. Of course, she couldn’t say any of those things.

“It smells like tar. Hot, sticky and oily, you know?.”

Solas shrugged, but one of his eyebrows stayed up, in silent question.

“Well what do you think this smells of?”

“It has no particular odour.”

“Well, I think it smells horrid.” She held up her sticky shoes. “Maybe if I hold these over a fire I’ll be able to burn off the gunk.”

Solas gestured towards the shoes. “May I?” He took one of her shoes and with an almost dismissive wave of his fingers, concentrated a very controlled burst of flame onto the sole. Elisabeth grinned as she handed him the other shoe. In the end, the soles were scorched, but she wouldn’t stick to the floor.

“Thank you, Solas, that was very kind.” She started putting the smoking sandals back on. “Part of me is always jealous when I see mages casually use their magic to solve issues like that.”

“And the other part?”

He never missed anything, did he? “The other part is glad I don’t have the power to accidentally set my hair on fire.” she said truthfully. “At least you don’t have that problem either.”

Solas shook his head, smiling, and went back to studying the elven orb. Elisabeth made her way towards the door Cassandra and Dorian had headed towards, being more careful where she stepped.

\--

By the evening, they had collected most of the books, scrolls, important-looking artifacts and piled them in the side room they were using as a temporary base. It had a door that still closed, to ward off the cold night, and barely had any cracks in the walls. Tomorrow they’d sort through the piles, deciding if any of it was worth bringing back to Skyhold.

Cassandra had made her own piles outside of weapons that were still in usable shape. Elisabeth was glad the bodies of the Venatori extremists had already been collected and burned. She didn’t think she would have done well with corpses as well as blood and ichor.

Casually asking Dorian and Cassandra revealed that neither smelled the same hot asphalt scent that she did. Perhaps she had a more refined sense of smell.

With the door closed, the heat of the torches was enough to keep the room warm. They’d settled in for the evening when Cassandra asked Elisabeth to tell her a story.

“A story? What kind of story, Cassandra?”

“One like the cinder girl.” she said, her eyes bright. “Varric was telling us the tale on the trip over.”

“I knew that little thief couldn’t resist taking notes.” she laughed without malice.

Cassandra reddened a bit, but kept going. “He says you know more stories than anyone else he’s ever met. Do you have any more romantic ones like the cinder girl?”

Elisabeth nodded, thinking quickly. “What about the story of Aladdin and the magic lamp? You know it?”

Cassandra shook her head happily, and Elisabeth noticed Dorian and Solas were both listening too. Solas had even put down his book.

“Once upon a time, in a city surrounded by deserts and sands, lived an urchin named Aladdin. He was a clever thief who tried to look out for the other urchins in the city. One day, he saved a young woman from an angry shopkeeper. They ran and escaped, and he kept her safe throughout the night. The next morning, he awoke to a sword at his throat! The sultan’s royal guard had found them, and the young woman he had saved was the princess, who had been trying to get out of her over-protective father’s thumb. Please! she cried, he helped me I swear! But none of the sultan’s guards believed her and they arrested Aladdin for kidnapping the princess, locked him up and threw away the key.”

“What is a sultan?” Dorian asked.

Cassandra shushed him.

“Like the Archon.” Elisabeth answered.

“Ah, so an asshole, carry on.”

“This one was more daft. The real ass was his vizir, his counsel. The vizir was a powerful mage who longed for even more power. Using his dark powers he noticed that Aladdin had a pure heart, and hatched a nasty plan. He promised to free Aladdin if the young man would go get a magic lamp for him in a deep, forbidden cave. The cave was warded so only those with a pure heart could enter. The vizir had no way of going in himself. He gave Aladdin strict instructions: touch only the lamp, nothing else! Aladdin went in and walked past treasures untold, piles of gold coins, riches beyond compare! Aladdin didn’t touch any of it. On top of a pedestal he saw an old, worn oil lamp. He reached up and grabbed it…” she paused, looking at her audience of three, “but nothing happened!”

Cassandra sagged, visibly relieved. “Aladdin let out the breath he was holding and stepped back from the pedestal… All of a sudden, the cave began to shake! He lifted his foot to see he had stepped on a single golden coin. The cave shook and rocks fell, and the cave entrance was lost forever. The vizir shouted angrily but even his great magics were not enough to reopen the cave. He gave up and went back to the sultan’s palace, enraged. Since he could not have the lamp, he would have to gain power another way. He began trying to convince the daft sultan that he should be allowed to marry his daughter, the princess.”

“But what about the urchin?”

Elisabeth could not believe how easy the Seeker was to rile up. She was the perfect audience member. “Oh, he was trapped in the cave, with no food or water, or even any light!”

“How fortunate of him to have a lamp, then.” Solas said with a smile.

“But he had no way of lighting it, Solas. Either way, he was so upset at having been so poorly used by everyone, he grabbed the lamp with both hands and threw it as far from himself into the darkness as possible. The lamp, strangely enough, began to glow! It shook once, then twice, then poof!” She threw her hands in the air dramatically. “Out popped a bright blue wraith, who bowed deeply to Aladdin.”

“A demon?!” the Seeker cried, clearly scandalised.

Dorian did the shushing then.

Elisabeth bowed deep to the ground, her hands pressed flat on the stone. “The lamp belongs to you, my master. I am the choice spirit, bound to the lamp, and as your boon, I give you three wishes.”

“How was the spirit bound to the lamp in the first place?” Solas asked.

Elisabeth looked up from her prostate position on the floor. “I don’t know, you’re the Fade expert. I’m just telling a story. Anyway, Aladdin picked up the glowing lamp and instantly said he wished to escape from this horrible cave. In a moment, the bound spirit magicked him back to the city in the desert, as if the adventure with the guards and vizir had never happened. Seeing the spirit’s power, Aladdin had an idea. Only a prince can marry the princess, he told the spirit. Can you make me a prince? With all the clothes and the _entourage_ to make it believable? You need only wish it, master. I am bound to your will, as I have been for the last millenia.”

Cassandra and Solas were both frowning unhappily, though Elisabeth thought it was probably for different reasons.

“Is there no way for you to be free? Aladdin asked. Unlikely, the spirit answered, annoyance in his voice, my master would have to use one of their wishes to free me. Aladdin considered the idea for a minute. Alright, I’ll do it. After I have won the princess’ hand, I’ll use my last wish to release you.”

“That’s a terrible plan!” Dorian exclaimed. Cassandra nodded, and surprisingly, even Solas looked concerned.

“Look, I’m not saying that you should trust every asshole who calls himself a choice spirit instead of a Desire demon, guys.” Elisabeth’s brain seemed to spin for a second, as she tried to remember if the Inquisition had been to the frozen Emprise yet. She had no idea. “Either way, Aladdin wished to be a prince and in an instant was dressed in the most elegant finery, accompanied by guards and servants, and was being presented at the sultan’s palace. The sultan was overjoyed to welcome a powerful prince; the princess recognised him, but was so glad to see him alive, she simply made him promise to explain later. Unfortunately, the princess was not the only one who recognized Aladdin. The vizir was infuriated at this urchin, this pretender in the court he so coveted.

“Using his dark magic to conceal himself, he snuck into the palace’s guest quarters and stole the lamp from the sleeping Aladdin! My first wish, choice spirit, is to be the new sultan! the vizir shouted. Unable to deny the owner of the lamp, the bound spirit stripped the sultan of his title, and the vizir, now sultan, had the princess, her father and Aladdin chained in his court. My second wish is to be the most powerful mage that ever lived. Don’t do it! Aladdin begged the choice spirit, but the choice spirit could not say no. With a flash the evil mage’s powers multiplied, till he could control all the elements with a mere thought! I am the most powerful being in the world! the evil mage shouted.

“You are not! Aladdin cried. The spirit is stronger than you will ever be! he taunted. It’s true… Choice spirit, I have decided on my final wish! I wish to be a choice spirit like you! With a shrug, the choice spirit did as he was told. The mage’s powers grew and grew… until a second oil lamp appeared at his feet and he was sucked into it, screaming and swearing the whole way. You wanted to be like me, the choice spirit said, so you are now bound to your own lamp, hopefully for millenia.

“The guards quickly shook off their stupor and released the prisoners. Aladdin picked up the original lamp, and hugged the amorphous form of the choice spirit. For my third wish, spirit, I wish for you to be free. The spirit smiled, glowed brightly, and poof! he returned to the Fade. The sultan was so pleased with Aladdin’s quick wit, that he declared that he could have his daughter’s hand in marriage - as long as she agreed The princess agreed wholeheartedly! They were married the next day, in a colourful, joyful celebration and they all lived happily ever after!”

Elisabeth tried to bow, but her bow was interrupted by a great yawn. The story had run longer than she’d intended. As they lay down, the Seeker still had a perturbed look on her face. “He had no guarantee that the spirit wouldn’t attack him upon his release, correct?”

“I guess not.” Elisabeth conceded. “I guess Aladdin just couldn’t leave him enslaved if he could help it, even if it was just a spirit. Maybe that’s the lesson.”

“I think,” Dorian said, stretching out on his bedroll, “the lesson is not to get entangled with evil mages.”

Elisabeth snorted sleepily. “Yes well. Leave it to you to purposefully misunderstand, Altus. Goodnight.”

“Goodnight darling.”

\--

Elisabeth was the last to wake the next morning. Cassandra was nowhere to be seen. Solas and Dorian were quietly sorting tomes and notes on the far side of the room. 

Someone had left some oat bars and dried fruit on a napkin next to her pillow. She sat up and munched on her breakfast, missing coffee shops and fancy lattes. There had been a few _cafés_ in Val Royeaux, and she had eventually convinced them to make a decent mocha, but she still missed ordering a ridiculous drink with too many modifiers, and receiving it two minutes later. 

Everything in Thedas was so darn slow.

Including her without her coffee.

She finally got up and puttered over to the two mages, who had started piles.

“Ah, you finally wake!” Dorian teased. “We thought we’d have to leave you here when we left!”

“Rude.” Elisabeth grumbled. “What can I do to help?”

Solas handed her a small pile of books. “These are the non magical books that we haven’t sorted through yet. If you could look at them and decide whether they are worth carrying back to Skyhold, that would be most helpful.”

Elisabeth nodded, looking over the spines. Most were bare. “Which pile are we keeping?”

Dorian pointed to the smaller one. “There is a rather gorgeous tome about dragons in ancient Tevene, some letters about Venatori troop movements, a few books of magical instruction that could be helpful for the mages… We should be done by this afternoon.”

“Excellent. I’ll go have a look at these outside. Hopefully I’ll be done before it gets too hot out there.”

“Unlikely.” Solas said quietly, without looking up.

Rolling her eyes, she left the stuffy room, only to enter the already sweltering courtyard. Finding a small corner of shade near some bushes, she sat on a half-wall and began flipping through the books.

The first one was a journal, written in a mix of Tevene and Common, but the dates on the entries marked it as pre-Venatori, so she put it aside. It was interesting, but not critical. The second volume seemed to be part history and part travel guide for coastal villages along the Nocen sea. Elisabeth lost herself reading about a small town with an excellent fish monger, who had reportedly seen mermaids on one of his fishing trips.

A warm wind blew through the ruin, and Elisabeth looked up with a smile, only to freeze as she found herself face to face with a demon.

The shade was a mere foot away from her, standing still, rags and leather strips moving slightly in the wind. It was silent, except for a slow rhythmic whispered shifting, like coarse fabric being rubbed together. Elisabeth realised that might be its breath. It’s skin was taught around his face and arms, its lips pulled back to expose sharp teeth, all of it mottled purple and blue like a bruise that was never going to get better. Its fingers were long and talon-like.

Elisabeth realised she’d stopped breathing. She’d never seen a demon before, not in all her time in Val Royeaux, Skyhold or on the road. She had never realised until this moment how lucky she had been to avoid staring into the mind-bending terror that was a real demon.

It started moving it’s hand up slowly, it’s thin fingers twitching slightly as it reached for her. Its head tilted, as if it was asking itself a question. Which is insane, Elisabeth thought, they don’t ask questions. Still, the dark, nearly hollow eyes seemed to be looking for something, looking into her face as if trying to decode a puzzle.

She started to shake when its hand softly made contact with her cheek, the sharp points of its claws digging in despite the gentleness of the gesture. Its touch was both hot and cold, and the smell of warm compost filled her nose. Something warm dripped down her face, and she didn’t know if it was tears or blood.

“Elisabeth!” Cassandra shrieked from one of the doors to the courtyard. At the Seeker’s shout, the shade pulled back abruptly, ripping at Elisabeth’s cheek.

The sudden pain got her moving, and also tore the scream she’d been bottling up from her throat. She rolled back into the bushes as Cassandra charged and Dorian and Solas both ran out of the side room. Dorian had his staff; Solas didn’t.

The shade seemed torn, its head swivelling from Cassandra to Elisabeth, as if trying to decide which way to charge. One of the mages cast a barrier over the Seeker, and she roared a challenge; the shade charged for the obviously more threatening warrior.

Elisabeth heard, more than saw, the fire emerge from Dorian’s staff as he attacked the shade. The blast almost covered up the Seeker’s growling strikes, but neither were louder than the shade’s shrieks of anger and pain, which echoed throughout the courtyard.

Elisabeth felt hands on her back and whimpered, her hands still pressed to her face.

“It’s just me.” Solas said quickly, pulling her up. He tugged her back towards the courtyard wall. He cupped her left cheek gently, sending his healing magic into the skin of her face, which sported three large scratches that bled freely.

“Don’t bother, it’ll just drain you.” Elisabeth said through her tears, trying to shut out the shrieks of the demon a mere stone’s throw away. Solas didn’t listen, trying to at least stop the bleeding.

Dorian and Cassandra together made quick work of the shade, reducing it to a puddle of bruised coloured blood and charred cloth easily.

Dorian rushed to Elisabeth’s side. He dropped to his knees and wrapped his arms around her, feeding some of his magic into Solas’ healing spell. Solas nodded his thanks briskly as he pulled away. The scratches weren’t healed, but had scabbed messily over.

“Kaffas, Liz, I can’t believe it didn’t disembowel you.”

“It was just watching her.” the Seeker said coldly.

“What?”

“I startled it into attacking, but when I entered the courtyard, it was just staring at her, studying her.” Cassandra shook her head. “ I’ve never seen anything like it in all my years in the service of the Chantry.”

“Is this true?” Dorian asked.

Elisabeth nodded, despite herself. She had no idea what had just happened, but she couldn’t help but feel like she’d done something wrong. “It just starred and tried to touch my face. It only hurt me when it was startled.” She noticed her hands shaking, noticing quickly that her entire body was vibrating as well. “I didn’t want this. I don’t want this. I don’t… It doesn’t fit…” She hid her face in Dorian’s shoulder, each harried breath causing her body to tremble harder.

“We need to get out of here.” Cassandra barked.

Dorian waved her off. “Seeker, we can wait until she’d calmed down, surely.”

“No, we cannot. I just checked in with the scouts outside. The guard had changed since we arrived. They said they were expecting me earlier, that we have been in the ruins for the past five days.”

Solas’s eyes moved quickly, processing. “Time magic?”

“There could still be latent magic from the Venatori spell affecting the ruins.” Dorian postulated, pulling up Elisabeth as he stood. “Yes, time could very well not have caught up with the outside world, despite the main spell having been disabled. We… We need to get out of here.”

“As soon as possible.” Cassandra agreed. “You start walking towards the main doors with Elisabeth. Solas and I will collect our things and meet you there.”

“We should all exit the ruins together.” Solas said, looking to Dorian who nodded. “It will reduce the disparity between our experiences.”

The group split up, Cassandra and Solas hurrying back to pack up their camp. Dorian was still holding Elisabeth as he guided her slowly across the courtyard.

“I have no idea why it didn’t attack me outright, Dorian, you have to believe me.”

“I do, dear, I do. Don’t worry about a thing, we’re going to head back to the camp and I’m sure your Cremisius will be glad to abscond with you in your tent as long as you need to feel better.”

Thinking about Krem did help, actually. His hands were real, his lips were real; his sewing and fighting were all real things in an unreal world. She realised how much he grounded her, how much having him here right now would make the unbelievable encounter with the demon fade away. Her eyes grew wet despite her small smile.

They continued to walk towards the door, Dorian not letting go of her shoulders. “I got blood on your robe.” she said quietly, 

“Outrageous!” he responded. “I guess I shall have to ask the Inquisitor to commission me a whole new wardrobe!”

They smiled at each other as running footsteps caught up with them. They were nearly at the doors that would lead to the outside. The Seeker was carrying most of the materials they were bringing back in two large sacks slung over her shoulder.

“Let’s get out of here.” She commanded. There was no argument.

\--

They’d been surprised to be directed towards Gryphon Wing Keep instead of the camp the Inquisition had previously occupied. It turned out that while their stay in the ruins had felt like two days to them, they’d actually been gone for just over a week. No one had been worried yet, as the Inquisitors companions were all capable, fearsome warriors.

They arrived at the keep by the end of the ninth day. They were met at the gate by Varric, who took one look at Elisabeth and then glared at the others.

“How in Andraste’s name did you let this happen?” he asked, reaching up to her injured face. She tried to bat his hand away but he was determined. “She was supposed to be safe with the three of you!”

“It’s not their fault, Varric. They saved me from a shade. This isn’t… it’s not as bad as it looks. You know I take a long time to heal.”

His face relaxed a bit, but he still kept his eyes on the two mages and Seeker. “Well, I’m not getting between you and Krem when he hears about this. He’ll be right pissed when he gets back.”

“He’s not here?” Elisabeth asked, trying to tamp down the disappointment in her voice.

“No, sorry; he had a special assignment with the Inquisitor and Bull. You’ve missed quite a bit of drama while you were gone. They headed out to the Storm Coast while we’re waiting for the rest of the army to get here. Turns out the Qun offered an alliance…”

“No, no, no!” Elisabeth grabbed his collar and yanked at him. “Call them back! When did they leave?”

“They left five days ago, Bookworm. They’ll be at the Coast by now. What’s wrong?”

“It’s a trap. It’s always a trap!” She slammed her hands on her mouth, realising she had just done what she had sworn she would never do.

Varric and Dorian were staring at her, shocked. Cassandra and Solas were frowning.

Elisabeth felt herself start to shake again, her hands trembling on her face, but she refused to move them in case she said any more. Demons, time magic, the Qun… They were all goign to take away the little piece of reality that she had found, and she hadn’t been able to do anything. She kept trying to help, but how could she when the whole world seemed to be trying to undo what she’d done?

As if her anxiety summoned him, Cole appeared at her elbow, his too thin hands gripping her tight. “Sound the alarm, he keeps them to lose himself. Don’t, and we lose them all anyway.”

“What will he do?” she asked the spirit, whispering through her fingers. “What will he choose?”

“I don’t know.” he said slowly. “You tried so hard to help, but they’re not yours to fix. They’re real.” He gave her a hug, which she didn’t reciprocate. “They’re the real ones, not you.”

The horror of Cole’s words hit her and her eyes widened, desperately trying to make anything make sense.

“What does he mean?” Cassandra asked loudly. She grabbed Elisabeth’s arm and turned her around. “What is going on?”

“Leave her alone, Seeker. Can’t you see she’s in a panic?” Varric said, pulling Elisabeth back. “Get the fuck away from her. She’s not yours to kidnap and interrogate, no matter what you think.”

Cassandra recoiled at the anger in Varric’s voice.

“Sparkler, help me get her inside. She needs to lie down.”

Elisabeth wanted to deny it. She had so much to do… She had to… She felt Dorian slide his arms under her knees and lift her up.

She felt helpless, _was_ helpless. Krem could be dying right now, and she hadn’t been able to do anything at all. She was tired of crying, tired of being scared. “This world is horrible, Varric. Let me leave, please.” she whispered. She forced herself to shut up and let the pain and despair cloister her mind within itself.

\--

Cassandra looked at Solas expectantly. “What in the Maker’s name is going on?” she asked him.

“I do not know.” He shook his head. “I shall search the Fade for answers, see if any spirits can give me guidance.”

She nodded and stomped off.

Cole sidled up to Solas. “Curiouser and curiouser...” he whispered, and he smiled wide before disappearing.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:  
> nids-de-poules - literally chicken's nests, but it means potholes


	14. Just Trying To Help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW for minor character assault and death (non-graphic), panic attacks, suicide ideation and self-harm. It will get better I promise.

When she’d first landed in Thedas, Elisabeth had been too focused on surviving to panic about anything else. Once she’d created a source of income and gotten the hell out of Kirkwall, she’d been too busy establishing roots to think about what she could be doing to help.

After finding Michel and a few others to hire on as staff, she’d finally settled down and started putting into motion all the different ways she could help both the people of Thedas and the Inquisition whenever it was founded.

In her second year in Val Royeaux, she had to seriously consider whether Thedas was worth saving at all.

She’d settled into a certain rhythm, had started multiple long term projects that would hopefully bear fruit by the time she’d need them. There were letters to write, people to pay off, and around all that, books to restore and repair. Her reputation was growing, even though a few of the older Chantry bookbinders had taken offence at a young upstart like her calling herself a master at her age. She laughed at them and continued her work, both legitimate and not. Things were going well.

All in all, she was wholly unprepared for things to change so quickly on a sunny afternoon, in one of Val Royeaux’s most charming shopping plazas.

It had been a lovely day. She’d written letters of introduction to three Circles and received a large new order to restore some Orlesian family’s matriarch’s journals. The restoration project was extensive but not overly complex, which meant Elisabeth could use it to teach the apprentices she’d recently taken on. The family had insisted on a red colour scheme, which had meant visiting the haberdasheries to see what they had available. Genova, who kept the kitchen with an friendly but strict iron fist, had noticed her leaving, and had asked her to find ripe tomatoes for the evening’s meal. The ones the grocer had delivered were still green and wholly unsuitable.

She’d been happy to help, and after putting in a few orders for bright red suede, she and Michel had gone to the market to hunt down tomatoes. Michel was walking behind her as she pushed past the throngs of people, all trying to get their shopping done at the same time. 

A scream tore through the plaza and people stopped suddenly. Michel caught Elisabeth and pulled her to him, unsure where the danger was coming from but ready for it anyway. Elisabeth slipped her hand into the wide pocket of her skirts, the one that let her access the small knives strapped to her hips.

“You rat slut!” a man shouted, as the people parted. A young elf was on the ground, clutching her cheek, as a tall human man, sword out, was threatening her. “You think you’re so smart. You think you’re safe, this far from your rat hole?” From his clothes and demeanour, he was a Chevalier.

“I did nothing, _Monsieur_! You grabbed…”

“Silence!” the man reached down and picked something up off the floor. It was a coin purse, though not a large one. “You tried to rob me! You should know your place!”

He brought his sword down into her leg, and the girl screamed out. Elisabeth tried to move forward, but Michel was already pulling her back through the crowds. Around them all the other elves were doing the same, slipping between the humans.

The humans moved forward to fill the hole Michel and Elisabeth were leaving. “ _Lâche-moi! Fuck! Lâche-moi!_ ” she cried, trying to push forward. He held her back, still reversing.

“She probably has stolen from many of you as well!” the man with the sword shouted.

“My purse is missing!”

“ _La mienne aussi!_ ”

“Get her!”

By the time the girl had started screaming again, Michel had picked Elisabeth up by her waist and was carrying her away from the plaza. Her cries crescendoed and stopped, as the crowd got what it thought it deserved.

They’d gotten free of the crowds and were fleeing with the rest of the elves, some of whom were crying around them. Elisabeth didn’t remember much of the walk back to the townhouse. She jumped as they stopped at the door and Michel unlocked it.

“Why did you stop me?” she asked him, as he avoided looking at her.

“What would you have done?”

“I could have defended her!” She shouted, enraged. Genova and Elaine came out of the kitchen, looking worried. She’d never raised her voice at any of the people who worked for her, especially not him. ”He couldn’t have called me a rat with ears like these!”

“ _Peut-être_ , or he would have called you a rabbit-fucker, and you’d have suffered the same fate as that girl. There’s nothing to do when this happens.”

“She was lynched to death because he tried to sexually assault her, Michel!” She pushed him into a wall; she was sure he had let himself be pushed. “How can there be nothing to do?”

“It is the way of the world, Elisabeth.”

“Maybe the world isn’t fucking worth it, then.” She had stomped off to her room, slammed her door, and refused to come out for the next two days. She drove herself to hysterics, trying to reconcile the world she knew, full of characters she adored, and the horrible place she’d found herself. She thought she had been doing well, with her letters and proposals, but it wasn’t enough.

Are they worth helping? she asked herself, over and over again. The Inquisition was a human organisation, no matter who the eventual Herald would be. Was it worth fighting and planning, for a bunch of Chantry shems?

The more she let herself sink, the more her mind latched onto a single, destructive idea. If this was a dream, she could wake herself up. If this was a dream, and she fell off her roof, she’d wake up before hitting the paving stones. She didn’t belong here, and had to wake up.

On the third day, Genova came into her room without knocking, carrying a tray with coffee, chocolate and pastries. The older woman was originally from Antiva. She had moved to Orlais to be with her betrothed, who had died in a skirmish a month after their wedding. Without a way to make it back to her family, she had relied on her cooking to see her through, finding work as a cook in many different houses throughout her life.

The woman had pulled open the curtains, allowing light in, and had frowned at Elisabeth’s arms; she’d been trying to pinch herself awake, and was covered in bruises. A few of the more vicious pinches were bleeding.

A plate of chocolates was put gently onto the bed, and then Genova sat down, making the bed sag a bit.

“I may not know what is happening in your head right now, _Madame_ , but I know what it is to feel lost, without an anchor or purpose.”

Elisabeth rubbed at her swollen eyes. “What helped?”

“Keeping busy. Friends.” The older woman smiled, pushing the plate closer to Elisabeth. “Chocolate.”

Elisabeth tried not to smile but failed. She took a piece of chocolate and chewed it slowly. “What am I going to do?” she asked quietly.

“Well first you are going to bathe; you smell. Next, you will go and apologise to Michel. The poor man does not have enough wits to worry about you and Elaine at the same time.”

Elisabeth sat up. “What’s wrong with Elaine?”

“Nothing is _wrong_ with her.” Genova was obviously pleased to have gotten a reaction. “She’ll be fine in seven or eight months. Elves take less time to cook, see?”

After her initial shock, Elisabeth had taken the quickest bath of her adult life and had run downstairs to find Michel and Elaine. Michel apologised for carrying her away against her will, Elisabeth apologised for shouting and doubting him, and Elaine cried because she was pregnant.

Keeping busy. Friends. She had to work harder and make more of an impact, if not for the Inquisition then for the little elf growing bigger by the day.

“We’re going to need so much more chocolate.” she’d declared to the confused but happy couple.

\--

Seven years later, as she waited alone in a locked room in Gryphon Wing Keep, she wondered if she’d done all she could. She wished they’d given her something to write on, but had refused her request.

Well, Varric had brought her the paper and quill, but he and Cassandra had disagreed on giving it to her. The argument had taken place right outside her door, and had lasted long enough that she’d shouted at them to go fight somewhere else.

She’d been given food and water, and some of her clothes.

She was worried, angry and bored. When the knock came at the door, she laughed. “Why are you knocking on a prisoner’s door, you idiots?”

The door opened slowly. Elisabeth was surprised to see the Commander come in, followed by Knight-Captain Rylen.

“Commander. Knight-Captain.” She was standing as far back as she could in the room, her back to the wall. Both of the men were in full armour and took up more room than she liked.

“You?” Cullen sputtered.

“Is the Inquisitor back? Is Lieutenant Aclassi back?” Elisabeth asked. “If you’re not willing to bring either of them here, I have nothing to say to you.”

The Commander turned to the other man. “This is the prisoner Cassandra wants us to…”

Rylen nodded.

“To what? Oh.” It took her a second to figure it out, but the presence of the Knight-Captain gave her a pretty good idea what was going to happen. Something inside her snapped like an old rubber band. “Fucking classic. You here to smite me? Silence me? Fucking racist pieces of shit.”

The Knight-Captain’s eyes were wide, looking to his Commander for instruction. “Sir, should we…”

“What Rylen? Huh?” Elisabeth was pretty sure that if she had had magic the entire keep would have been in flames. “You going to check if I’m possessed now? Just do it. I’ve seen it done, in Kirkwall, by some power mad blond asshole.” She clenched her fists. “I’ve seen what it does, even to people who aren’t mages or possessed. Go on, hurt me if that’s what the Seeker wants.” Neither men were looking at her now. “Fucking do it!”

“Do it.” Cullen commanded, finally looking up.

Elisabeth braced herself for the worst. She’d seen mages hit with Smites fall unconscious, blood pouring out of their ears. One of the mages who worked in the atelier said it had felt like her skull had been pulled out of her head. Non-mages still ended up on the ground, confused and in tears.

Rylen removed his sword, knelt on the ground, and closed his eyes.

Elisabeth felt nothing. There was a brief smell of mold in the air, but it vanished almost instantly. She started to grin, all the fear and pain she’d been ready for coming loose, transforming into giddy energy that made her feel even more disconnected from what was happening.

“You stupid fucks.” she giggled, as Rylen attempted again.

Cullen was sweating next to him, fear and confusion on his face. “How is this possible?”

“Maybe cause I’m not possessed?” Her head fell back, crying despite her laughs. “Templars and Seekers think they’re so great, but you’re just as bad as Chevaliers, aren’t you? Using your power to beat up on those smaller than you. I don’t know why I bothered giving any of you a chance.” She took a few breaths, trying to get her temper back under control. “Just… Get out.”

Rylen stood, his skin pale under his tattoos. The Commander let him pass, then turned back.

“Lady Elisabeth…”

“I just wanted you to have the best chance.” She turned away from him. “Tell the Seeker I’m not possessed. I’ll only speak to the Inquisitor or Krem, if he still lives. Get the fuck out.”

She didn’t allow herself to move until the door had shut and the key had turned in the lock.

She started to pace the room, grabbing her head. If the Commander was here, the army was as well. Would the Inquisitor go to Adamant before dealing with her? Had Dagna figured out how to use the research she’d been given? Did she even care anymore? Did it matter that she had potentially facilitated the creation of the Fade equivalent of a dirty bomb, and given it to these idiots who were still Chantry slaves?

No, it didn’t matter. Elisabeth shut her eyes, imagining chocolate and kisses, pinching her forearm as hard as she could.

\--

Cole was upset. Elisabeth’s feelings were so loud in his head that he’d had to escape the Keep, trying to find somewhere he could try to understand what feelings were hers, and which ones were his. Some of them hurt so much, and made him say things that were so mean… He was scared she wouldn’t forgive him if he didn’t stop, but he couldn’t.

He’d finally settled on a rickety platform, far from the Keep, looking down into the black depths of the blighted landscape. There was no life down there. Even the old hurts were burrowed deep down in the dark ruined earth, easy to ignore.

He’d felt Solas approaching for the last few minutes. The mage sat next to him, and they both looked at the abyss in silence for a bit.

“She’s just like me.” he finally said.

“She isn’t a spirit…”

“No. She just wanted to help. It made her who she was. She doesn’t know if she wants to help anymore.” Cole paused, unmoving. “Does that make her nothing?” he asked.

“I don’t know, Cole. Do you know what she is?”

“She’s not a liar. She said she’d only speak to the Inquisitor or Krem. Don’t bother trying.”

“No, I meant… Of course.”

Cole was gone.

\--

The Inquisitor returned to Gryphon Wing Keep the next day. After a very animated, hours long briefing, he headed to the locked room where they were keeping their book-binder.

The guard let him in. The torch on the wall was running low, giving off only a little light in the early evening gloom.

“Lady St-Laurent?”

Elisabeth’s eyes flew open. “Did you save the Chargers?” she demanded.

The Dalish elf felt his jaw tighten. “I’m here to ask questions, not you.”

“Did you fucking save them or not?” she yelled. She had run out of energy to cry. All she had left was a low-burning anger. “If you didn’t you better save yourself some time and kill The Iron Bull now before he betrays you.”

“How do you know any of these things?” he shouted.

She shook her head, unwilling to answer.

“You knew about the avalanche at Haven, didn’t you? Otherwise you wouldn’t have protected your things the way you did.”

She stayed silent, so he pressed on.

“You knew Cullen would give up lyrium. You knew Briala was key to the peace talks. What else do you know? Did you know they’d make me Inquisitor? Did you know I’d get this thing on my hand?”

“I never knew it would be you. I helped them all regardless.”

“Who? Who are you talking about? You’ve stopped making sense, Elisabeth! I’m trying to save the world and you were supposed to be on my side! What else do you know? How are we supposed to trust anything you say?”

“I’ve never lied to you Mahanon. Everything I’ve done was for you and the Inquisition, even before I found out you would be the Herald.”

Mahanon was tired. He’d just finished a stressful mission in the midst of another stressful mission, and he was preparing to march on a fortress in the next few days. He roared and grabbed Elisabeth by her collar, pulling her up off the bed. “Make sense! What in the Creator’s name have you done?” he asked, shaking her.

“I saved clan Lavellan.”

He dropped her in surprise, and she fell sitting on the bed. She’d never lied, but she’d omitted so many things.

“You know nothing of my clan. They’re not in danger.”

“They’re not in danger because of me. Who do you think facilitated the relationship between the alienage in Wycome and your clan? Brianna? The teacher at the school? She’s one of mine.”

Mahanon froze. He remembered when Brianna had approached their clan, asking if some of the elders would come talk at the school, to discuss the different ways elves lived around Wycome. She’d invited them all, and had encouraged the Keeper to send the youngest a few days a week to learn to read and count. Brianna had even gone out of her way to contact some of the most influential merchants in the city. She’d introduced them to merchants who had valued the work they did, and who had given them a fair price for the bows and arrows his clan crafted. “Why? What for?”

“For the same reason I funded a full refit of all the wells in the city, so that they’d be cleaned and properly maintained by professionals. For the same fucking reason I got Duke Antoine assassinated: so he wouldn’t be able to poison the entire city of Wycome’s wells with red lyrium, blame it on the elves and slaughter your clan to throw the Inquisition off the scent.”

He reeled back, trying to absorb everything she’d said. “How do you know this?”

“Does it matter right now, Mahanon? I acted. If you hadn’t been Inquisitor, it still would have saved their lives.”

“Red lyrium in the wells would have infected anyone who drank from it.”

She nodded.

“Duke Antoine was working for the Venatori?”

She shrugged. “If he wasn’t when he died, he would have soon enough.”

Mahanon paced the small room, trying to wrap his mind around what she was saying. “How?”

“I don’t know. I could tell you all I know, but when I try to help too much, it apparently… Apparently it all goes to shit for me, so you can understand I’m not fucking keen.” She looked up at him. “Did you save the Chargers?”

“Yes. Bull called the retreat.”

She thought she was out of tears, but she found more in that moment. She wept as the worry she’d kept aside with anger burst like a bubble. Though she was gasping, she felt like she could breathe properly for the first time in days.

Mahanon stood by silently, not touching her.

She caught her breath after multiple attempts and wiped at her face. “Did Dagna come with the army?” she asked.

“Yes, I believe so…”

“Ask her about the lyrium bomb. You’ll need it at Adamant. At the end of things, it might save a hero’s life.” She clicked her fingers a few times, then froze. “Don’t take Sera or Cole with you onto the ramparts. They won’t do well.”

“Creators, Elisabeth, are you listening to yourself? How can I…?”

“Believe me or don’t. I don’t know if I care anymore. Can I see him?” She looked into his eyes. “Please? I need to see him alive before Casandra or Leliana decide to kill me.”

“No one is killing you.”

“Yet.”

He sighed, unable to correct her. “I’ll have him sent up. He’ll be free to come and go. I need to ask you to stay in here for now.”

“Fine. Please get the fuck out, Inquisitor.”

He left without another word. Someone locked the door behind him.

Elisabeth waited, half convinced that he had lied to her about saving the Chargers. Would he do that? He’d saved the bloody drufallo, hadn’t he? Hadn’t that been enough for her a few months back? Still, she worried until she heard voices coming up the hall, shouting about her being locked up. The key turned and the door slammed open. A pissed off Krem nearly fell into the room still in full armour. Bull and the rest of the Chargers were in the doorway, looking in.

“You’re okay. You’re alive!” 

“Liz…!” He threw off his gloves and took her face in his hands, running his fingers over the long scratches on her face. “What happened?”

“Just a demon. It doesn’t matter. Are you hurt? Was anyone hurt?” She looked to the doorway but couldn’t see anyone missing or gravely injured. Bull had a bandage on one arm, and Skinner had a black eye.

“We’re fine, everything’s fine. Liz why are you being kept here?” He ran his hands down her head and shoulders, looking for any injury. He paused on her arm, covered in bruises and crescent shaped cuts. He checked her other arm, finding blood under her fingernails.

“I always knew too much, right?” she said glumly, suddenly finding it hard to look into his eyes. She looked at the ground instead. “I’ve always known the Qun would call, would ask for your lives in exchange for Bull’s loyalty. I always knew there was a chance he wouldn’t pick you. I thought I had time to say something, time to warn him of the trap, somehow. It was never about the Inquisition.”

She knew Bull had heard by the way he flinched.

“I promise I would have told you, Bull, if I hadn’t been stuck in the ruins. If I had known you were headed to the Coast. I’ve been waiting nine years to warn you, I promise.”

She finally managed to stop herself revealing any more. No one else spoke.

The silence was so oppressive Elisabeth felt she couldn’t breathe. She had to say something. “You should… you should go with Bull. He needs you…”

“Can you leave this room?”

“No.”

“Then I’m staying. The boys will look after the Chief for the night, right?”

“Do not worry about the big idiot.” Skinner said calmly. “ _On s’en occupe._ ”

“Right, let’s go.” Bull told the Chargers, pushing them down the hall. “I’ll be fine. You take care of her, Krem.”

Krem nodded, then began removing his plate mail. Bull closed the door, and someone locked it again. When he was down to a linen shirt and pants he took her in his arms, squeezing her in a hug he couldn’t have done with the armour in the way.

“Varric told me some of it.” he said, still holding her tight. “Cole tried too, but I didn’t understand any of his nonsense.”

Despite herself, a small laugh bubbled up. She sobered quickly. “Krem, I can explain some of it, but not…”

“Not tonight.” He guided her to the bed, barely loosening his hold. “We’ll talk tomorrow, or another day after.” He settled them down, tucking her head into his neck, his arm and leg heavy on top of her body, helping her sink into him. “Tonight I’m going to hold you because crazy mages didn’t kill me and a demon didn’t kill you, and everything else can wait.”

“I should’ve…”

“Shh, Amata.” He stroked her hair, careful of her injured cheek. “I promise it can wait.”

“Alright.” She whispered a kiss against his skin, wondering if she was foolish to allow herself this. If they didn’t execute her, she promised herself, she’d tell him she loved him. If they did kill her, then at least he had lived.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> Monsieur - Sir  
> Lâche-moi! - Let me go!  
> La mienne aussi - mine too  
> Peut-être - Maybe  
> Madame - Lady  
> On s’en occupe - We'll take care of him


	15. Two Cinnamon Buns Together

The Inquisition went to Adamant, and returned victorious.

Elisabeth could hear the soldiers celebrating winning the battle and the successful return of the Inquisitor from his trip to the Fade. Their shouts didn’t tell her what she wanted to know, unfortunately, and the scout who had brought her her meals had refused to answer any of her questions.

She heard a hollow scratching sound, the skritch of metal on metal. Then a soft click. The door opened a crack and Varric slipped in without a word. With a wink he closed the door and locked it again, twisting his lock picks quickly now that he knew what he was doing.

“Hi Bookworm.” he said, as he turned to her. He looked tired and stretched, with dark bags under his eyes and a smear of blood where his hair met his forehead.

“Oh Varric… You look awful.” He’d already been a bit weathered when she’d met him, but today, he looked like he felt every battle and every year in his joints. She stepped forward and wrapped him in a hug. “Did Hawke… Did he make it?”

“Yeah, he did. It was a close call though.” His already hoarse voice was worse than usual, as if he’d been screaming for hours. “I thought I’d lost him when he fell into the rift…”

“Did the Warden make it?” Elisabeth realised she didn’t even know who the Warden was. The last few months had derailed all her plans.

“No. Stroud died as they were escaping.”

She’d failed, then. She’d always told herself she couldn’t save everyone, but it was hard to stay logical when the events were so unreal to begin with. “So my bomb didn’t work, then?”

“It nearly did, according to Solas.” He sat on the bed and she sat next to him, her head on his shoulder and her small hand wrapped around his. “It apparently blew two legs off of the giant demon they faced. Unfortunately…”

“Unfortunately it was a spider and had an extra six. Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

Her fingers rubbed his absentmindedly, neither of them talking for a few minutes. Outside, the soldiers cheered and drank to the Inquisition.

“Solas is the only one who came out of it okay.” he said quietly. “Hawke and the Inquisitor feel guilty about Stroud, Cassandra is torn up about the Divine, and Sera is just flipping out. She was drunk before we came back to the Keep.”

Elisabeth swore under her breath, shaking her head. “I told him not to bring her. Her and Cole were the worst choices…”

“Cole refused to go into Adamant at all. He stayed on the ladders and helped the soldiers, but wouldn’t go any further.”

“He’s got history there. I don’t blame him.”

“He said it was because you told the Inquisitor he shouldn’t go.”

Oh, cinnamon bun… “At least someone listened to me, then.”

“I always knew there was something off about you, but I never realised what. How much do you know, really, Liz?”

“I know enough that I’ve forgotten some of it already. I knew about Haven, I knew about Skyhold, I knew the Inquisitor would fall into the fade. Varric, I know so many things about all of you, and I’ve never used any of it to my advantage. Everything I’ve done since we met has been to mitigate the pain you all would go through, without getting myself killed. And now Leliana and Cassandra are going to do just that.”

Varric shook his head. “I won’t let them. Neither will Krem or Dorian.”

“Don’t be daft. You’re all needed to defeat Corypheus, and I’m only here by mistake. I’ve never belonged here, and you can’t pretend that I do. Do you remember when I first came to you in Kirkwall?”

“You looked like a beaten puppy.” he laughed. “You were so afraid of everyone, even Blondie… Shit, you knew about the Chantry.” The laughter faded from his eyes, replaced by exhaustion. “You knew he was going to blow it up before he’d even thought about it, didn’t you?”

“Why do you think I’ve worked so hard to help the Inquisition and the alienages? I can never forgive myself for not helping back then. I was too scared and alone.”

“Shit.” he cracked his neck one way, then the other. “Shit. I thought a guy with a magic green hand was the weirdest shit I’d see in my lifetime.”

She snorted, despite her dark mood. “Sorry to disappoint. I need you to promise to do something for me, Varric.”

“Is it weird?”

“Not overly so. If I die can you keep an eye out for my people in Val Royeaux? My will should take care of them financially, but I just worry about Leliana going after them.”

“Andraste’s tits, would she?” A levelled glare from Elisabeth made him hold up his arms in surrender. “You’re right, she might. I’ll do it, don’t worry.”

“What’s happening now?”

“Everyone is going back to Skyhold in the morning. We’ve been told you’ll be under constant guard, apparently.”

It was about a two week trip back to Skyhold. “Fucking brilliant.”

\--

Her constant guard ended up being Cullen, Cassandra and Vivienne, which was awkward and uncomfortable for everyone involved. She was never alone, sleeping next to Cassandra every night, putting up with Cullen’s awkward silences and Vivienne’s barely-veiled snark throughout the day. Worse yet, she was also ordered not to speak to anyone, otherwise she’d be gagged and bound.

She was determined to keep her hands free, so she shut her mouth, letting her glares communicate how angry she was. 

A few of their companions had argued for more lax rules; Dorian, Varric, Krem and Bull, and even Solas defended her. Unfortunately for her, the Inquisitor was still angry, and he was unwilling to give her any freedoms. He’d been angry and distant since coming out of the Fade, and Elisabeth was bearing the brunt of it.

Cassandra had outright refused to let Krem into the tent overnight. He came to her every evening once they’d called a halt for the night, and sat with her by the fire, his body wrapped around hers, whispering nothings into her neck as they waited for her to be forced into Cassandra’s tent. He told her about different missions the Chargers had taken on, what had happened on the road that day, and over a few evenings had told her something that was nearly The Little Mermaid, but with a tragic Tevinter flair.

She kept silent, as instructed, as he made her smile and made sure she felt safe, despite the circumstances. He knew well the exact spot on her neck that made her melt, and took advantage of it often, despite the embarrassed huffing from the Seeker. 

They were one day out from Skyhold when Elisabeth was awoken in the night by a persistent shake of her arm. Solas was sitting beside her bedroll, his legs crossed and his expression serious. 

She sat up, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes. She waved a hand at the sleeping Seeker a few feet away.

“I’ve put up a silencing spell around us, though I had to be careful not to let it touch you. You caused the spell’s bubble to burst.”

“Well that’s convenient.” It was too early or too late to play nice, no matter who she was talking to. “What do you want?”

“What do you know of my past?” He asked plainly. 

“Straight to the point, that’s nice. Short answer: all of it. Do you want the long answer or can I get back to sleep?”

The ancient elven stared at her in disbelief. “Are you not even a bit afraid of what I could do to you?” Solas finally asked. 

“The worst you can do is kill me. Your magic doesn’t work on me, and although I guess you could kidnap and torture me, it wouldn’t affect any of my projects. All it would do is ensure that I never tell you what you need to know.”

She’d imagined having this talk a hundred times before, usually on top of a mountain or in a dungeon, with his hands full of fire or at the end of the world. What she’d dreamed up had been so much scarier than reality: a confused elf in his pyjamas, sitting next to her sleeping bag. 

“What’s the long version?” He asked. 

“You’re Fen’Harel.” She watched his ears twitch. Michel’s did that too, when he was upset. “The orb is yours, the mark is yours, and you want to tear down the Veil. You screwed up a long time ago, and everything you’re doing right now to try to fix it is getting you deeper and deeper in trouble.”

Solas inhaled sharply through his nose, then opened his mouth to speak, but Elisabeth held up a finger and he shut it. 

“I’ve not been able to talk for a while, so you’re going to let me finish. I can’t tell you what to do. I obviously made my own share of mistakes otherwise we wouldn’t be having this chat. But…” she took a deep breath, preparing herself to say something she’d sworn she’d never say. “You’re gonna want to change your plans, or at least the timeline for them. In a few years, the mark is going to eat away at Mahanon’s arm, and we’ll have to chop it off to save him.”

“I should be able to remove the mark without injuring him when I get my orb back.”

She stared at him blankly, blinking twice. 

“I don’t get my orb back, do I?”

Elisabeth shook her head slowly.

“But that means…”

“I don’t know what it means. There’s a limit to my knowledge, Solas. Worst case scenario? He loses his arm, loses the Inquisition, and then you fuck off like a coward. At least I managed to save his clan, I guess.”

Expressions flashed on the elf’s face, his mind obviously spinning.

“Will you tell them what you know of me?”

“Depends, I guess. It depends on whether you still plan on going through with your guilt-warped idea that will kill millions. Depends if I’m still alive by then.” She shrugged, with a sad smile on her lips. 

“How are you so unconcerned about your own death?” Even the nearly immortal ancient elves had feared death.

Her smile faded. “I died nine years ago when I was ripped from my world and landed here, Solas. And right now, I’m too angry to be afraid, even of you.” She laid back down on her bedroll. “If you’re going to kill me, get it over with. I’m tired. Good night.”

She stretched her hands above her head, reaching towards the tent’s canvas wall. Her fingers brushed up against a whisper of cold. Solas felt his spell pop, and Elisabeth rolled over, putting her back to him. She rolled back a few minutes later, but he was gone. 

Screw him, she decided. He’d do whatever he wanted to anyway. 

—

Finally back at Skyhold, she was escorted to the war room by Cassandra after being allowed to freshen up in her room. She felt extraordinarily stupid for having been so excited at seeing it the first time. How naive she’d been even after so long in Thedas.

She wasn’t surprised at the crowd gathered in the room now. The three advisors were there, of course, as well as Mahanon. Vivienne was standing near a window, pretending not to be interested. Dorian, Varric, Bull and Krem were standing near a chair that was clearly being reserved for her. Sera looked grumpy from one of the corners at the back. Solas was near the war table, and Cole was perched on it, crouching down, whispering into the elf’s twitching ear.

“Let us begin.” Cassandra said, closing the door behind her.

Elisabeth raised an eyebrow as Cullen sheepishly waved a hand towards the chair. She walked towards it, then stood in front of it, crossing her arms tight across her chest. She felt Krem’s hand softly against the small of her back for a beat, and took a deep breath.

“Who are you really?” Leliana asked, venom in her voice.

“Am I allowed to talk now?”

Cassandra grunted. “Yes.”

“Great. My name is Elisabeth St-Laurent. I’m about 38 and I have a bachelor of fine art with a focus on bookbinding and restoration.” She started. “I’ve studied in Montréal, Vancouver and Lyon.”

“There are no such places on our maps.” Josephine said carefully.

“Of course there aren’t.” She was trying to keep the sarcastic tone out of her voice, but she was failing miserably. “Single child, parents possibly still alive, who knows. Haven’t seen them since I fell to Thedas about nine years ago. I was found by the side of the road, covered in bruises, with my clothes torn to shreds. The merchant caravan who kindly picked me up dropped me off in Kirkwall. I met Varric, we swapped some ideas on printing and bookbinding, and I went to Val Royeaux, to get far away from the act of domestic terrorism that Anders would comit.”

“You knew he would do it?” Cassandra demanded. “Did you help him?”

“Seeker! When she came to me she had no money, no connections, and was weaker than a baby nug.” Varric defended. “When I let her have a room and a bath she wept. The first time she saw Anders she fainted dead away out of fear, for Andraste’s sake!” He stepped in front of Elisabeth and pointed at the Seeker. “No, she may not have warned us about what he was planning, but who would have believed her? In her shoes we would have all done the same thing. Don’t act like you’ve never made a mistake.”

“Be that as it may,” Leliana said, “it doesn’t explain how she knows all that she does.”

“Being from another world isn’t good enough?”

“Another world?” Cullen asked. “How is that possible.”

“It’s friggin’ weird is what it is.” Sera shouted.

“And yet, I believe she is telling the truth.” Solas quietly added. The room turned to him. “Magic barely affects her. She has never entered the fade in her dreams, as far as I can tell. Most spirits cannot even sense her. Commander, isn’t it right that the Templar’s powers did not affect her at all?”

“It’s true. She had no reaction to any of Knight-Captain Rylen’s abilities.”

Dorian scoffed. “I think the word you’re looking for is  _ attacks _ , not abilities.”

Cullen gulped and closed his eyes.

“Either way, I do not think she is human in the same way as the others here.” Solas continued “She is human in shape, perhaps, but she is wholly unique in Thedas.”

Elisabeth frowned, trying to piece together that information. She’d known she wasn’t normal, but human shaped was a whole other thing. She needed to talk to Krem; what was he thinking?

“I told you didn’t fit.” Cole said with a grin. He jumped off the table and gave her an awkward hug. “I don’t fit in either. We can be two cinnamon buns together!”

Her eyes filled with tears. “Thanks Cole.” she said quietly.

“Inquisitor?” Solas asked. “Have you ever known Cole to lie?”

“No.” the Inquisitor shook his head. He looked exhausted. He was no longer standing straight, but was leaning on the war table. “He often doesn’t make sense, but he never outright lies.”

Solas nodded. “Cole, what is Elisabeth’s world like?”

Cole fidgeted, looking at Elisabeth. She simply nodded, before sitting on the chair behind her. She was tired too, running out of steam.

“It’s so much bigger!” Cole said excitedly. “No elves, no dwarves, no Qunari. No magic. Just people, people stacked in castles higher than the clouds, buzzing like bees in a hive. There’s no veil. There’s no magic, no spirits, no demons. They have huge metal snakes that dig underground, and the people get eaten and travel faster than a bird can fly.”

“That’s a metro. It’s not a snake. It’s a method of transportation.”

“Go to work, come home, worry here, war overseas. There’s only one…” He turned to Solas, with a thrilled look on his face. “There’s only one moon!” His head snapped towards Elisabeth. “And they put men on it, crawling all over it and it wasn’t even made of cheese!” He frowned. “They have glowing boxes where they meet us. I was there!”

“Yes you were. In my world, yours is a story, one I knew well. I know all of you, and until the story ends, I know most of what will happen.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me about the Fade.” the Inquisitor asked quietly. The mark on his hand flared, and his face twisted in a flash of pain. Elisabeth suddenly realised how much it had shaken him to fall into a world that he was never meant to go into. That he’d only heard about as an abstract. Just like her.

“Cause you wouldn’t have gone. If you could have avoided it, wouldn’t you have tried to?”

“In a heartbeat.”

“And you wouldn’t have gotten your memories back, or defeated the Nightmare and the demons. Corypheus would still have his army and your men would have tried and died.”

He walked closer to her, defeated. “You knew Andraste never had anything to do with it. That’s why you never called me Herald.” he said quietly.

“That’s right. I’ll call you Inquisitor though; you earned it.”

Mahanon shook his head. “Leliana, you’ve had her watched. You’ve had two weeks for more research.”

“Yes Inquisitor.”

“Has she ever done anything to sabotage or hinder the Inquisition or its members?”

There was a deep sigh. “No Inquisitor, but she withheld information that could have…”

“Enough. No one in this room is innocent of that.” He looked at Elisabeth. “If you agree to share all of the information you can, and all of the projects you have underway, you can stay.”

Elisabeth was already nodding then Leliana interrupted. “Inquisitor, are you quite sure that’s wise?” the spymistress asked.

“No, but if I was wise about the people I allied with, most of the inner circle would have to leave, including you.”

“Yes Inquisitor.”

Elisabeth felt herself mentally deflate, her body shaking as she released the tension she’d been holding. “Tomorrow I’ll start laying it out. I’ll explain all I’ve done, and I’ll tell Leliana what I can. I can’t tell you everything. You all deserve your secrets.”

The Inquisitor nodded, and she stood quickly, eager to leave the war room. She was genuinely surprised when Krem slipped his arm around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. All she wanted to do was touch him, to ask him if they were still okay, but she held herself in check. She looked back to see she was also being flanked by Varric and Dorian, and that Bull had set himself between the Seeker and the door. She idly wondered which of the warriors would win if it came to blows. Bull could probably crush Blackwall but…

“Where’s Blackwall?”

“My scouts apparently could not find him when they went to summon him to this meeting…”

“Oh for fuck’s sake!” Elisabeth cried, turning around and heading back towards the table. “Stupid dramatic oaf! He’s gone to Val Royeaux, hasn’t he?”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed. “Lady St-Laurent, it seems part of your report needs to start right now, if you please?”

“Fine!” She quickly spun around and grabbed Krem’s collar. She dragged him down into a kiss, one that managed to be both hungry and hesitant. “I…” She could swear she had an idea of what she’d wanted to say, but all sense had left her the moment her lips touched his. “I know this is a lot. If you don’t want…” She bit her bottom lip, unable to finish the sentence.

“I’ll see you in your room later, yeah? We’ll talk.”

“Yeah. Yes please.”

He kissed her forehead and pushed her gently towards the table, where the advisors were waiting impatiently. Cullen and Josephine were blushing, but Leliana looked unimpressed. Mahanon looked like he was about to fall asleep.

“Ok,” Elisabeth said, trying to calm her fluttering heart. “Here’s what I know…”

\--


	16. Creators Damnit, Seeker!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is apparently the sappiest shit I've ever written. Sorry, not sorry.

It took nearly two hours for the war room meeting let out. First Leliana’s scouts had to do another search of Skyhold, to make sure Blackwall wasn’t just hiding under a pile of hay or a lonely bar wench. They found his note to the Inquisitor, which made Mahanon equal parts sad and angry. The arguments started soon after, on whether the Inquisition should recover him at all. The Inquisitor put his foot down.

Elisabeth offered to help by putting up the Inquisitor’s team while they were in Val Royeaux. She also had an idea how to get him out of the prison without costing the Inquisition any loss of reputation or coin.

Cassandra was frustrated to find out that Elisabeth refused to tell them what Blackwall was attempting to redeem himself for. “What use are you to us if you hide important information?” she asked, frustrated.

“It’s not my secret to tell, Seeker. How many times do I need to tell you that? How would you like me to spill  _ your _ darkest secrets?”

That had gotten the Seeker even more angry, which Elisabeth hadn’t realised was possible. It was eventually decided that the Inquisitor would travel to Val Royeaux with Elisabeth. They’d bring Cassandra, because she didn’t trust Elisabeth, Varric, because he did, and Solas, because there was a book at the University of Orlais on the veil that he wanted to consult.

They’d leave the next morning. Once this was decided, Elisabeth excused herself quickly. She was eager to return to her quarters, annoyed at having made Krem wait so long.

He might not even be there, she realised as she crossed Skyhold. Her hurried steps slowed as she let the thoughts fester. How long would a guy wait for someone who probably wasn’t human? Her hand rubbed her cheek, feeling the scars that the mages hadn’t been able to heal. What was it Solas had said? Human in shape?

One of the first times she’d realised that magic didn’t work quite the same way for her was when she’d entered an adorable little bookshop in Val Firmin. The shop was quiet, with dust-filled sunbeams and shelves packed with antique volumes and new pulp publications alike. She’d been browsing for perhaps five minutes when a blood curdling shriek had made her drop the book and spin around. The shopkeeper was in a doorway leading to the back room, clutching at her chest dramatically.

Michel had burst into the shop when he heard the screaming. As he passed the threshold, a lovely chime sounded all around them, obviously meant to alert the shopkeeper if she was in the back. The poor woman “hadn’t heard the spell go off” and was surprised to find someone where she’d been expecting an empty shop.

She’d made sure to exit at the same time as Michel in order to mask any strangeness. There were already too many little things that didn’t quite add up about her; she didn’t need to add more just for fun.

Still, sometimes, she wished she could get healed automatically, feel the full effect of Varric’s hangover cure potion, or use nightmare warding glyphs.

She rounded the corner to the corridor that led to her room. It was empty, and for a second her stomach dropped. She’d hoped he would be there, waiting for her, but obviously…

She moved forward when she noticed her door was slightly ajar, warm light peeking out. 

He was there, dressed in a casual shirt and leather breeches, sitting on her bed. The book he’d been reading was open on his knee, abandoned the instant she’d come inside.

“You’re still here.”

“Of course I am. We said we’d talk later, right?”

She nodded, and stepped forward hesitantly. “You’re too good to me. Sometimes I wonder if you’re really real, or if I’m dreaming.”

His face softened. He took her hand and pulled her forward, settling her between his knees. He hugged her tight against him. “I’m as real as you are.”

“Apparently that’s up for debate...”

“No, it’s not. You’re here, and you’re real, and you belong.”

Her trembling hands held his face as her mouth fell on his in a kiss both nervous and relieved. Her thumbs traced his cheekbones as his hands settled on her waist, squeezing gently. “I love you.” Her lips moved against his skin, chasing the path traced by her thumbs. “Every time you smile at me I can’t believe my luck.”

He pushed against her waist, backing her up just enough to be able to look her in the eye. “We both made our own luck, Amata. We both got to choose who we’d become, how we’d live our lives no matter what the world around us thought.” His thumbs, now tucked under her blouse, rubbed circles onto her skin and she felt herself grow warmer. “We both decided to fight: you with words, me with a massive hammer.” His cheeky smile made her laugh out loud, as she closed the gap between them again.

“I’m glad; all that work with the hammer has given you the strongest, most amazing arms, dearest.” She ran her hands down his biceps, nails scratching lightly, and was pleased when his breath hitched. His hands gripped her blouse, and he looked into her eyes in question. She nodded, and he pulled it over her head. He grabbed her in a bear hug and tugged her down onto the bed with a laugh. She couldn’t keep the grin off her face.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt so light, so safe.

He kissed her like she was the only thing that mattered, and she replied in kind because in that moment, he was. They were real.

\--

Early the next morning they regretfully untangled themselves from each other and the blankets, each touch leading to a nipped stolen kiss, each kiss threatening to send them back into the bed. Her pack had still been full of her things from her extended trip to Halamshiral and the Western Approach, but it was all filthy and covered in sand. She’d dumped everything out and now had a mini desert on her floor. Krem was helping her fill it up again with spare clothes, blank notebooks and various toiletries.

A loud pair of knocks on the door made them jump and blush like teenagers. “Alright, lovebirds! We gotta get on the road otherwise we won’t be able to catch Hero before he does something stupid!” Varric called.

“I’m coming!”

“That’s what she said!” Varric shouted through the door.

“Oh for fuck’s sake…” Elisabeth groaned, as Krem laughed. 

“You owe me, Bookworm; I expect you to laugh at all my jokes on this trip. Who do you think let Loverboy into your room last night?”

Krem shrugged. “He did.”

“Fine, yes, fine.” Whatever she had in her bag would do until she reached Val Royeaux, and then she’d be home. She’d be able to get anything she was missing when she got there. 

Varric already had his pack on his back and was dramatically tapping his foot with impatience when she opened the door. Still, he grinned when he saw them leave her room together, his eyebrows dancing up and down. 

Down near the stables, the Inquisitor and Cassandra were looking over missives as stablehands readied their horses. Solas was stroking his hart’s nose gently, looking lost in thought.

Elisabeth’s eyes were drawn inside the barn, where Blackwall’s unfinished rocking-gryphon still sat, waiting. She shook her head and looked for the horse they’d agreed to let her use. Unlike the war horses Mahanon and Cassandra would ride, her horse looked soft and docile. The mare seemed quite happy to be tied with a lead to Varric’s pony.

“Tiny, are you coming too?”

Stunned that she’d somehow missed The Iron Bull’s bulk once again, Elisabeth jumped a little at seeing him approach. 

“Nah, someone has to stay here and frighten the recruits into behaving; with the Seeker gone, it’ll have to be me!”

Cassandra sneered without looking up from her reports.

“Hey, Liz, come here for a sec.” Bull said, his large hand wrapping around her shoulder. “I gotta tell you about Krem’s ticklish feet.” He led her away from the group, far enough that they wouldn’t hear him speak but still within sight. 

“Yes, The Iron Bull?”

He hummed a low note. “I’ve realised something: you haven’t been comfortable with me for a while, not like before, and I think I know what’s changed.”

Visions of the scout hanging on the knife, dripping blood onto the sand flashed before her eyes, and her breath caught. “I don’t know what you mean.” she lied. 

“You've not spoken to me except that one time when we came back from the Coast. You’ve been careful not to be alone with me and you’ve been keeping Dorian or Varric in between us when Krem’s not around. Is this about the Venatori spy I took out that night before you went to the ruins?” He asked the question as if he didn’t already know it was. 

“Spy?”

“Yeah,” he said casually, “there were a few among the scouts. The Nightingale needed them taken out quietly before they could get info back to the Venatori about troop movements.”

“Oh.”

“You could check with Leliana, make sure I’m telling the truth; I would if I were you. But I want you to know, you have nothing to fear from me. Not when I see how much you care for Krem. How much it would have hurt you if I’d… if I hadn’t ...”

The words seemed to catch in his throat like burrs.

She nodded and beckoned him forward. He tipped his head down, and she grabbed the tip of his ear in a hard pinch. True to his training, he barely flinched.

“If you’d sacrificed them, you would have died. I’d never be able to kill you myself, but I know people who’d have a good shot. As my thanks for saving them, I promise that if you ever go mad, I’ll hire them to take you out before you hurt any of the Chargers. Deal?”

His laugh filled the lower courtyard, the sound echoing around and attracting everyone’s attention to them. She released his ear and walked back towards the horses. Krem had put her pack in her saddlebags, and checked the saddle and bridle for her. 

“Are we ready to go?” Mahanon asked. 

“They’re almost ready, Boss!” The Iron Bull announced. “These two just need to share a last kiss goodbye!” Krem looked at his Chief with sharp eyes as Elisabeth blushed. 

“Like they haven’t done that all night!” Varric added. Great, now they were both blushing.

Krem shook it off and pulled her close, holding her face gently as he kissed her. His fingers traced one of the scars on her cheek. They were no longer sensitive, but hadn’t yet faded. “Be careful, Amata,” He whispered against her lips, as his forehead pressed upon hers.

“Love you.” She whispered back.

He picked her up by the waist, snuck one last kiss on her chin, and lifted her up onto her horse. The lovely old girl barely moved as Elisabeth adjusted her weight. 

“Alright, come on Kremsicle!” Bull shouted cheerfully. “Let’s get some training in. I think all these kisses are making you soft!”

The smaller man elbowed him hard in the gut with a grin. “So you’re blaming the Altus for this? Not the beer?”

“Move out!” the Seeker bellowed, obviously sick of their act. She set off, followed by the Inquisitor who was shaking his head. 

“Looks like we’re leaving!” Varric said, rolling his eyes. He tucked his heels into the pony’s side and set it off. Elisabeth’s mare followed gently, and Solas and his hart fell in behind her. 

—

That evening, as Varric told another story about unlikely characters in unlucky circumstances, Elisabeth was working on filling a notebook with notes for Leliana.

She huffed and crossed something out dramatically, then slammed the book shut.

“Something wrong?” Mahanon asked.

“I was trying to recall things in order, but it’s not working. I think the information I’ll be giving your spymistress will be out of order.”

“It’ll be fine, don’t worry about it.” He paused, looking uncomfortable. “What would have happened to my clan, if you hadn’t interfered?” he finally asked quietly.

The camp was silent. Varric’s story had been put on hold, and Solas had stopped writing his own notes on who knows what. With only the crackling of the fire as background, Elisabeth let out a large sigh. “You would have tried your best to save them, and the people of Wycome. Unfortunately, one wrong step - sending a diplomat instead of a undercover agent, for example - and things would have spun out of control.”

“How so?” Solas asked.

“Well, if the diplomat was too forward, she’d tip the Inquisition’s hand. She’d let the Venatori know you were paying attention, and they’d rile up the nobles and slaughter everyone in the alienage. Or if you sent soldiers, Wycome would see it as an attack, and in their response, wipe out clan Lavellan and the Inquisition troops too.” She’d tried to remember the proper channels, the proper order to send diplomats and assassins and such, but she’d never been able to recall it reliably. “Nine times out of ten it would have been a clusterfuck, and I wasn’t willing to risk it.”

“Say that again?” Varric asked, pulling out a piece of paper and a stick of charcoal.

“Say what?”

“The word with fuck in it.”

“Clusterfuck.”

“Yeah, a cluster of fucks. That sounds like the Venatori in a nutshell.”

Elisabeth was relieved to not have to explain how she knew words that no one else did, for once.

“What was your world like?” Solas asked quietly.

“Honestly…” Elisabeth felt her eyes get misty. She stared into the fire, trying to stop the parade of images; her apartment, her parents, going to the grocery store, little things she’d never considered she’d been taking for granted, like deodorant and wool that didn’t scratch. “Honestly I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Why not?” Mahanon asked.

“Because I’ve devoted myself to making this world better, and I can’t do that if I keep spending time and resources trying to get back. I’m here now, and instead of crying about what I lost, I’m trying to make it worth being here instead. Its the kids books, the funding of schools, and trying to lessen the harm the people of the Inquisition have to live through.”

“Divine Justinia and all those people still died.” Cassandra said flatly. “You’ve not done very well, obviously.”

Elisabeth’s face turned red. “Listen you stuck up bitch…”

Varric threw himself in front of Elisabeth as she stood. Mahanon did the same as Cassandra roared to her feet.

“How dare you?” Elisabeth continued, pushing forward. “Daniel and the other Seekers are only alive because of what I did!”

Cassandra froze.

“Do I look like I could stand up to Corypheus? Do I look like I could live through a fight with a Warden?” Elisabeth was trying to circumvent the wall of dwarf in front of her, but he was remarkably strong. “No! I fucking couldn’t! What I could do is hire a goatherd to keep watch on Caer Oswin, to let the Nightingale know as soon as your fucking Seekers started being shipped there!”

“So many died!”

“Better than all of them!” Elisabeth stopped pushing. “Look at my fucking face, Cassandra. It’s a miracle I’ve survived this long!” Her voice cracked as her eyes filled with angry tears. “Any person I can save, even if I can’t save them all, has to be enough. I can only avoid death in this stupid murderous world of yours for so long… I can only be so lucky... ”

“Come on, Lizzie.” Varric said quietly, using her name for once. “Let’s get in bed. We have an early start in the morning.”

Elisabeth swore under her breath as she was led away by strong hands. She turned around and pointed at the Seeker. “I cared for all of you - loved all of you - before I ever met you. You have all been in the back of my mind for the last nine years. I don’t know why I bother, some days...”

“Let’s go, come on.” Varric said, leading her into the tent they were sharing. He shot an absolutely lethal look at the Seeker before following her in.

“I didn’t…” Cassandra tried to grasp the entirety of what had just been said. “I didn’t know.”

“You judge others quickly, Seeker.” Solas said, bowing slightly before heading into his and Mahanon’s tent.

Mahanon sat back down and stared into the fire. Cassandra followed suit. “I’ll take the first watch.” she said, her voice hollow.

He nodded but didn’t answer.

He went into his tent, trying to ignore the gruff voice shushing the sound of quiet tears.

\--


	17. The Shinning Silver Jewel of Orlais

Val Royeaux was shining and filthy and despite all that was wrong with it, Elisabeth had missed it. Skyhold was nice and safe, perhaps even idyllic when it wasn’t too cold, but it wasn’t a city. It didn’t have alleyways where you could find treasure as easily as a mugger, or shops where the price of goods varied from hour to hour. Some of the mages would swear that the stones of Skyhold were somehow _alive_ , but Val Royeaux was alive in a way even Elisabeth could feel.

Varric was the only other one to look comfortable. She wondered if the others were remembering coming here all those months ago, being yelled at by an old Chantry hag and spat upon by what turned out to be an Envy demon. What was about to take place wouldn’t make for a great memory either, if she was honest.

She suddenly realised she didn’t want to be around Cassandra when she found out Blackwall had been lying the whole time she’d known him. If the recent past had been an indication, the Seeker actually believed that lying by omission was as bad as a plainly told lie.

“Solas and I will go to _l’Université_ while you chase after Blackwall.” She announced, slipping her arm into Solas’.

“Will you be alright?” The Inquisitor asked. He looked eager to get to the hanging grounds.

“We’ll be fine! Varric, I expect you remember where the townhouse is?”

“No problem Bookworm, we’ll meet you there afterwards.”

“Thank you. Mahanon, good luck. Try to remember the man he is trying to be.” She turned away, leading Solas off.

Elisabeth thought she saw the Seeker raise her arm up to ask a question, but she was already ducking down a side street that circumvented the main markets. There was more shade from the buildings being so close together, and more hurried bustle instead of slow masked elegance.

“May I ask what they will find?” Solas asked quietly.

“Blackwall is just like the two of us, it turns out.” She waved at someone she knew, with a wide smile, then turned back to her companion. “He’s got a huge secret that smothers him at times; if he’d done things differently, innocents wouldn’t have lost their lives. He’s been trying to fix it the best way he knows how, but the past has caught up with him at last. Just like it caught up with me, and…” she paused and looked him over, her lips in a tight smile.

“Yes well, thank you for the warning.”

“No problem! I hope you’re up to running a few errands before we visit your book.”

Elisabeth wished she had a camera on hand, because Solas rolling his eyes in annoyance was one of the funniest things she’d ever seen.

“Josephine was very clearly told that I would be welcome only after classes have finished, and only until sundown.”

“That’s because they don’t know I’m coming with you. They’ll let you stay all night if you need to, don’t you worry.”

She led him down streets and across alleys. They didn’t run into any trouble either because the quick pace Elisabeth kept discouraged miscreants or because Solas had his staff proudly hanging off his back. He’d dropped a bit of the humble air he put on and looked more feral and dangerous.

“You’re standing taller.” She told him. “It’s a good look on you.”

He didn’t smile, but she swore she saw a twinkle in his eye. 

They took a few turns through residential streets. “The first thing we need to do is-”

“Auntie Lizzie!”

Elisabeth was tackled by a small elven child who was quickly grabbed under her arms and swung around. “ _Aneth ara, Camille da’vhenan!_ ” Elisabeth happily cried, finishing a swing with a kiss. “You’ve been growing while I was away! Is Genova still sneaking you cookies?”

“Of course I grew, you’ve been gone forever!” the girl whined. “When can I come see the _chateau_?”

“Yes, well, when you are done with school and apprenticeship, maybe you can go have adventures too.”

The girl froze in Elisabeth’s arms. Her small hand reached up to the woman’s cheek, fingers caressing the scars there. “Did they do this to you in the _chateau_? I thought you said they’d be nice.”

“No no, _ma cocotte_ , no. This was an injury, not done by friends. Look, this is Solas, one of the friends I told you needed my help. He is also the one who helped heal me when I got injured.”

Solas, much to Elisabeth’s surprise, looked slightly confused by the tiny girl, the smile on his face not quite reaching his eyes. She wondered how much contact he had with children, elven or no, back at Skyhold.

“You helped her?” Camille asked, her eyes narrowing.

“I did, _da’len_. I stopped the bleeding and helped it start healing.”

“ _Ma serannas, hahren_.” Camille said quietly. She kicked her feet to be put down by Elisabeth. Once down, she wrapped her arms around Solas’ waist for half a beat, then let go, bright red.

“ _Viens, ma cocotte_ . We need to go tell Genova about Solas and the other guests. If I do not tell her about guests coming for dinner soon enough, _elle va m’étriper_!” she whispered the last bit of the phrase conspiratorially, and the girl giggled, slipping her hand in Elisabeth’s and pulling her forward.

“What was that last part?” Solas asked, following.

“Genova will kill her!” Camille answered happily, nodding along. “Tell me about the castle. Does it have a princess?”

They walked the rest of the way to Elisabeth’s house, as she attempted to explain why there wasn’t a princess at Skyhold, and that Mahanon was a bit like a prince, but not quite.

The house was taller than it was wide, pale yellow with white accents, set within a row of identically shaped but different coloured houses. They climbed the steps leading to the front door, and let themselves in.

Camille shouted for Genova at the top of her lungs, surprising Solas.

“You’ve not been around kids a lot, have you?” Elisabeth whispered to him.

Before he could answer, a woman came out into the main hall waving a wooden spoon. “I’ve told you not to yell in the house, _bambina_!”

“You said unless it was important, and this is important Genova! Look!!”

“Ah, Madame, you are back!” The older woman stepped forward and took Elisabeth into her large arms. “How long are you in town?”

“Just a few days. I wanted to let you know I am bringing friends for dinner tonight. The two of us,” she waved at Solas “and three others.”

“Five more people for dinner? Maker help me, get out! I have too much work to bother with you now! Camille, _bambina_ , come! _Ma halani_. You are going to help me make pasta!”

“Genovaaaaa!”

“None of that! Come!” She waved away Elisabeth. “We will see you later, Madame!”

“Absolutely, thank you for being flexible. Master Tethras will arrive with the others, so they may come before we make it back.”

They left the house, leaving most of the contents of their heavy packs in the hall. 

“Her accent in elven was awful.” Solas said, as they walked through the streets. The towers of _l’Université_ could be seen peeking between certain buildings. 

“That’s unfair, Solas!” Elisabeth complained. “She’s only seven and she’s learning three languages! I think she’s doing amazing.”

“Not the child, the cook.”

“Oh, well, yes. Genova only picked up bits and pieces of elven over the years.”

“And usually _ma halani_ is used more as a cry for help, rather than help in the kitchen.”

“I can’t believe you…” she looked at his face properly and realised he was smirking. “Oh, stop messing with me! We have one more stop before we reach the library.”

As they passed under the many arches of the city, Elisabeth pointed out her favourite bakery, a shop that sold wooden toys and the wide steps that led down to the meat district. After multiple turns through the rounded streets, they popped into a florist, who greeted Elisabeth by name. 

“What are your favourite flowers, Solas?” she said as she looked through the different flowers, making a show of browsing the selection even though she knew what she wanted.

“They do not grow-” he paused. “They do not grow around here.”

“Mine either. They were called alliums, where I am from.” she whispered. “Can’t go wrong with roses, though, can you!” she said, nearly too loudly.

She bought a bouquet of seven roses, six white and one red, and asked for them to be delivered to her _atelier_ after sundown that evening.

“I have the address on file. I’ll put it on your tab, my dear?”

“Yes, thank you, Elaine will take care of it.”

“Very good. It’s always a pleasure.”

As they left the florist, Solas stared at Elisabeth suspiciously.

“Don’t look at me like that! As if you’ve never done secret spy shit.”

\--

Back near the hanging grounds, Varric and Cassandra waited at the top of the stairs leading down to the dark jail cells; Mahanon had wanted to talk to Blackwall, or Rainier, alone.

“Varric?”

“Yes, Seeker?”

“What do you think Elisabeth meant when she said she had loved us before she had met us?” Her voice was quiet. She’d been subdued since Elisabeth had shouted at her.

Varric thought silently for a minute. “Think of your favourite book.”

Cassandra blushed, but nodded.

“You care about those characters, right? You’d help them if you could? You’d try to save them from their own bad decisions?”

“Yes, I imagine I would.”

They sat in silence again, waiting for the Inquisitor to come out of the cellars. 

“We should swing by the alienage on the way to Bookworm’s place.” Varric said, somewhat mysteriously.

—

“Elisabeth St-Laurent! _Par les yeux du Créateur_ , what the fuck are you wearing?!”

The shouted words rang through the multi-story library, causing at least one researcher to yelp and another to drop books down the stairs. L’Université had it’s issues: they still had racist bias when it came to student applications, and she’d once been laughed out of a meeting when she’d brought up the idea of peer review and reproducible results. Still, she loved the smell of all the books and the constant scritch of quills on paper. She had spent hours, running her hands down the rows of spines, feeling for the different binding materials, the soft purr of suede and the almost squeakiness of books that were bound in human-like nug skin.

“Good afternoon Gaston! Just popping in between appointments!”

“Ah yes, I’d heard you’d fallen in with” the man pretended to gag “Fereldens. It would explain the clothes.” He frowned, then a smile broke through and he took Elisabeth’s shoulders and air kissed her twice. “Who is your friend?” he asked, looking curiously at Solas.

“Gaston Auger, let me introduce my friend Solas, esteemed researcher on the topics of the Fade and ancient Elvhen and battle mage _extraordinaire_.” She turned to Solas. “Solas, this is Gaston Auger, one of the lucky few in charge of acquisitions here at the university library.”

Gaston shook Solas’ hand up and down, observing the mage. “The Fade and ancient Elvhen, really? Both of those topics are regrettably lean here. Do you have any published works? If you do, I would love to receive copies for consideration!”

“I have a few journals…” Solas getting rattled twice in one day was more amusing to Elisabeth than it had any right to be. “Nothing published as of yet.”

“Elisabeth, why aren’t you getting this done for me right now?” He took Solas’ arm and led him around the library. “She’ll get you set up. We would love to have anything of quality to spruce this up, look!” He’d led them down busy bookshelves, past tables with slowly melting candles and tired looking students. They’d arrived at the shelf with their books on the Fade, where Solas reached out and took a slim book from the shelf.

“Here is the volume I intended to study today, actually.”

“Oh! You’re with the Inquisition? Well, if you’re a friend of our Elisabeth, you can borrow it. I’m sure she’ll make sure nothing unfortunate happens to it. Before she decided to run off with your little organisation, she’d been our go-to for any repairs. Her team still does an excellent job, but she truly is the master.”

“That would be excellent, thank you.”

They stayed and chatted for a few more minutes, Solas already looking through the book, bored. After air kisses and farewells, they began walking back to the townhouse.

“He is exhausting.”

“Yes. Most Orlesians are, unfortunately.” She loved the feel of the bricks under her feet and the buzz of the students around them. “It’s part of their charm.”

At first, the decision to come to Val Royeaux was a purely practical one: she spoke both Common and Orlesian, and she needed clients who could afford her book-mending services. Living close to both the seat of the Chantry and l’Université had been an easy way to ensure a steady income.

After a year, she’d fallen in love with the bustle, the food and some of the people. She’d been determined to not only make the city better for all its inhabitants, but to also provide ways for the downtrodden to help themselves. Investments in key industries, anonymous donations, and scathing manifestos had all fallen under the umbrella of la Dame D’argent.

They turned a corner and stopped dead, staring at the wall in front of them. The people moving around them scrambled to avoid them.

Painted onto a wall, obviously from a stencil, was a relatively well done outline of the mask she’d worn to the Winter Palace. Below the phrase “ELLE VOUS OBSERVE” was bold and legible.

“That’s new…” Elisabeth said with a sigh.

\--

By the time they made it back to Elisabeth’s, the Inquisitor, the Seeker and Varric had arrived. Mahanon was desperately trying to convince Camille that he was not a prince as Cassandra tried not to smile behind him.

“...but Auntie Lizzie said you would have the biggest room at the top of the tower, like the princess with the long long hair! You must be a prince then!”

Mahanon looked supremely uncomfortable, nearly more so then when he’d been made Inquisitor. “I’m just an elf like you...” he tried.

“ _Mais non_!” she said. “I bet your _Nona_ doesn’t make you peel vegetables.”

“My Keeper absolutely did make me peel vegetables, when I was your age.”

“Even though you’re a prince? _C’est pas juste!_ ”

“ _Bambina_!” came a voice from the kitchen. “Come help me set the table!”

“Come on, Pinecone.” Varric said, leading her away. “Let’s help Genova.”

“Thank the Creators.” Mahanon whispered under his breath. “Solas, Elisabeth, good evening. Were you successful in your errands?”

“We were, thank you.” Solas said with a nod. He wandered away into a room off the hall, his nose in the book.

“How was he?” Elisabeth asked.

“Broken.” Mahanon said quietly. “He insists he needs to be judged.”

Elisabeth would have expected the Seeker to have something pointed to say, but she stayed strangely quiet. 

“What are you going to do?” she asked.

“I don’t know.”

The Seeker put a hand on his shoulder gently. “For now you only need to decide if we are leaving him to be judged here, or if we are getting him out. You may judge him back at Skyhold, if he so desires.”

“Of course we’re not leaving him there!” Mahanon answered, shocked.

Elisabeth clapped her hands. “Perfect. You can decide what to do later, I’ll have him out of there by morning. For now, let’s eat. Apparently Camille and Genova made pasta, and I for one am not going to miss it. Solas? We’re eating!”

Solas returned to the hall, glancing back into the room, which was covered in floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. All of the shelves were empty. “Lady Elisabeth, what in the world happened to that library?”

“It got donated to a worthy organisation.” she said, staring wistfully at the shelves for a bit. With a deep breath, she guided them all to the dining room attached to the large kitchen.

\--

“Goodnight _cocotte_.” Elisabeth said, hugging Camille long after dinner. The Inquisition guests had joined Elisabeth at the lengthened table, along with Genova, Michel, Elaine and Camille, the last of whom had asked questions all evening. 

It was past her bedtime and Elaine was pushing her towards the stairs. “Come on, da’vhenan. Melava somniar.”

“Michel and Elaine live in your home?” Cassandra asked, as Elisabeth led them past the stairwell into the empty library.

“Of course. They are my friends first, my steward and secretary second. Honestly, they take care of more of the _Dame D’Argent_ propaganda than I do. If I perish, everything I own goes to them. I have worked hard to ensure that Camille never has to suffer the fate of so many other elven girls in this city.”

“We went by the alienage on the way back. It’s looking good, Bookworm.”

She was glad to hear it. When she’d first visited the alienages in Kirkwall and Val Royeaux, she’d nearly thrown up from the smell of decay and corpses. Although there was no strict curfew, the elves hid after dark, when Chevaliers would roam the streets looking for ‘thieves and layabouts’. Sometimes, hiding inside didn’t stop them grabbing someone. She had first visited the Hahren, who had been extremely hesitant to speak to her; she was human after all.

It had helped when she’d come back with food, fresh fruit and breads. She’d also brought Michel, and two new hires: Jean-Luc, a massive Vashoth warrior, and Angel, a small elven woman. Elisabeth explained that she would be paying their salaries and for anything they required to do their jobs. Jean-Luc bowed to the old elven man. He’d been raised by elves in Northern Orlais, he’d told the Hahren, and it would be his honor to repay their kindness by protecting the alienage and the people who lived here. Angel had been a private tutor, who Elisabeth had hired to open a school. She assured the Hahren she’d be more than willing to work with the elders on the curriculum and scheduling.

Her next visit had gone much smoother after that.

Michel approached the group, with what looked like a picnic basket under his arm. “How is Kirkwall doing?” he asked the dwarf kindly.

“Last I heard things were getting better.” he said, “It takes a long time to change bastards’ attitudes.”

Elisabeth sighed. “Don’t I know it.”

“So, Bookworm, what’s the plan?” Varric asked, shrugging off the melancholy and rubbing his hands together. “Are we going to rush the cells?”

“Of course not. We’re meeting an associate at the _atelier_ shortly.”

“Do we get to take the bat tunnel?” He asked, excited.

Cassandra gasped. “There will be bats?”

“No, no bats. Just a silly name for a secret tunnel.” She shook her head and smiled, laughing at an inside joke only she would ever get. “You’d best bring your kits, you’ll be staying in the apartments above the _atelier_.”

As the others collected their packs, Michel slid next to Elisabeth. “So how are things going with the handsome lad?” He poked her in the side, making her squeak.

“He’s hardly a lad, Michel, please!”

Varric slapped the elf playfully on the arm. “Oh, let me tell you all about their passionate kisses goodbye, Michel!” Varric was only too happy to tease her as well. ”Her and Loverboy put on quite a show on the way out of Skyhold!”

“You’re incorrigible gossips, the both of you.”

“It was dashingly romantic.” Cassandra added. 

Elisabeth scowled without menace and opened a cupboard on the far wall of the library. She slid over the coats and cloaks, unlocked a subtle toggle and pushed the back of the cupboard open. Clean stairs led down towards the back of the house, and a tunnel continued beyond.

“Solas, could I ask you to light the sconces on the way there? They’ll all be on the right hand side of the corridor.”

“More ‘secret spy shit’?” he asked, as he descended the steps slowly. The words sounded odd with his cultured accent.

“Of course.” Elisabeth answered, trying to ignore Varric embellishing her and Krem’s last morning at Skyhold. She felt her breath hitch as she remembered. The Seeker was right, it had been ridiculously romantic. She sighed and stepped down, trusting the others to follow.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translastions:  
> l’Université - The University  
> Aneth ara, Camille da’vhenan - Hello, Camille my little heart  
> chateau - castle  
> ma cocotte - endearment, little hen or pinecone  
> da’len - child  
> Ma serannas, hahren - thank you, elder  
> Viens, ma cocotte - comme my pinecone  
> elle va m’étriper - she'll gut me  
> bambina - little girl  
> Ma halani - help me  
> Par les yeux du Créateur - Maker's eyes  
> ELLE VOUS OBSERVE - SHE IS WATCHING  
> Mais non! - Of course not  
> Nona - grandma  
> C’est pas juste! - it's not fair  
> Melava somniar - Time to dream  
> Dame D’Argent - Silver Lady  
> atelier - workshop


	18. Unleash the Horde

She had always been exceedingly proud of her little  _ atelier _ . It faced a quiet street, so there wasn’t too much foot traffic that passed by the large, multi-paned windows. One side of the two story-tall main room was taken up by tidy desks with angled tops. Their drawers were filled with the various tools of their trade: nug and fish skin glues, solvents that could make your eyebrows fall off, and spools of waxed thread they used for binding the books. The other side held rolls of fabric, bundles of threads, piles of various colours of leather and racks of the marbled endpapers they made a few times a year. 

The space smelled warm and dry; leather and paper and solvent being cut and layered and spilled throughout the long days of work. One of the walls was covered in scraps of paper: pretty marbled papers, pieces of receipts and contracts, drawings by Camille and sketches by some of the more artistic of her apprentices. A few Polaroids wouldn’t look out of place, she thought to herself. 

Michel and Varric we’re speaking loudly at the desks, Solas and Mahanon were looking through the stacks of leather, and Cassandra was running her fingers along the skeins of silk threads hanging on a peg board. They’d all had a few cookies from the basket that Michel had brought.

Elisabeth was just finishing looking over the work that had been completed that day when someone knocked four times on the outside door.

She moved forward to open it, but Cassandra stepped in front of her with her hand on her sword as Michel got the door. Elisabeth didn’t resist rolling her eyes.

“How many roses?” Michel asked gruffly, opening the door only a crack.

“Six white, one red. Put on her tab.”

Michel opened the door and a man with a heavy dark grey cloak walked in. He pushed off the hood and looked suspiciously at the occupants of the room. “Who are all these people?” He was tall for an elf, with light grey hair and pale blue eyes. He made no effort to hide the two falchions at his sides.

“Hello Clément. A pleasure to see you again.” Elisabeth said, without much enthusiasm. “I was so looking forward to seeing your sister; is she well?”

“She is. It’s her night off.  _ J’vais devoir faire, Dame _ .”

Michel looked over the new arrival’s shoulder and scolded Elisabeth silently, fixing her with a look.

She and Clément had never quite got along, even though they often worked in parallel ways towards the same goals. He preferred slitting throats over spreading propaganda, and though his methods often succeeded, she had often had to work twice as hard to make sure the blame for his actions didn’t fall on the elven populace in general. She’d once had to invent a serial killer from scratch in order to cover up the deaths of an entire house’s worth of guards; the Sanguine Sinner had never been caught and had become a convenient excuse for some of Clément’s more sinister methods. His sister Anne-Marie, tended to temper the killing sprees, and was altogether more agreeable to work with.

Still, she couldn’t deny that sometimes, a dagger in the night was just what this world needed, and Clément was happy to be that dagger. For a price.

“These are representatives of the Inquisition. You may have heard of them, they patched that hole in the sky a few months back, saved the Empress and defeated a few legions of demons?” She waved Mahanon over. “This is Inquisitor Lavellan. Inquisitor Lavellan, Clément. If he has a last name, I don’t want to know it.”

The assassin’s eyes lingered for an instant too long on the Inquisitor’s vallaslin for Elisabeth’s liking, but he bowed his head slightly regardless. “Who do you need killed?” he asked plainly.

Cassandra scoffed, but Elisabeth smiled. “You can kill any Chevalier you like, as long as they have dark hair and a dark beard. I’ll double your fee if you can sneak the body into the jail cells and switch him for our man. Triple if no one realises the switch took place for a few days. Cave in his face, it’ll make it harder to identify him.”

Cassandra and Mahanon’s mouths hung open; Varric had a twisted look on his face. Solas and Michel seemed unaffected by Elisabeth’s order to kill and maim a man.

Clément whistled low, nodding slowly. “I imagine this fellow in the cells, he is dark haired, with a dark beard? You sure he’s worth that much money? I have just the man in mind if he is...”

“We can’t just kill a man to save Blackwall!” Cassandra said.

“He’s hardly a man. Would it help if I told you he’s a rapist?” Clément said.

“How are you so sure?” she asked.

“They all are.” Elisabeth answered for him. “All new Chevaliers go through a hazing, a right of passage. Honestly, we’re doing Thedas a favour.”

The uncomfortable silence weighed heavily on everyone in the room. 

“Get it done.” Mahanon said.

“We need the man in the jail cells alive. He may need to be… persuaded to leave.” Elisabeth sighed. “He’s going through some tough shit.”

The other elf grinned widely. “Aren’t we all.” He bowed low, then looked at Elisabeth. “I’ll bring him here by first light. Payment due in full in exchange for the prisoner.”

“Alive.”

“Alive.”

He pulled his hood over his light hair and let himself out, shutting the door quietly.

The air in the room suddenly felt lighter, like the candelabras were glowing brighter than before.

“Fuck I hate working with him.” Elisabeth said with a shiver. “It really is too bad he’s borderline insane.” She turned to Michel. “Can you get his fees from the house safe, please? I’ll show these guys to the apartments above. They’re all free right now, yes?”

“Oui, oui.” He locked the  _ atelier’ _ s door and headed back towards the tunnel. “Good evening, friends. I will be back tomorrow to facilitate the exchange for your friend.”

He left and Elisabeth led the others to a long staircase that ran the length of the building. Upstairs were simple rooms, two singles and one that had a few bunk beds. They called them apartments, but they were more hotel rooms than permanent living spaces. Still, many of her apprentices and guests had preferred them to sleeping in the public boarding houses or in tents.

“Some of you gentlemen will need to bunk together in this room,” she said pointing to the room with multiple beds.

“I don’t mind sharing as long as no one makes me climb up onto the top bunk!” Varric declared, throwing his bag under one of the bunk beds.

“I don’t mind either.” Solas said, swinging his pack on the top bunk.

“We may want to leave one of the single rooms for Blackwall when we get him back. He may not be in the mood to share.” Mahanon said, wincing and putting his pack at the bottom of the other bunk bed.

“Fair.” Elisabeth said quietly. “Seeker, you can use this one if you like. It’s the closest to both the top of the stairs and the emergency exit.” She pointed to a window at the end of the hall that led to the roofs.

“Thank you.” the warrior said. She turned into the room, then turned back. “May I speak with you privately for a few minutes, Lady St-Laurent?”

Elisabeth froze. “We can speak in the hall.” she finally said.

“As you wish.”

Elisabeth waited for the other woman to speak.

“I would like to apologise.” the Seeker said at last. “I have not been kind to you since the Western Approach, though you have done little to warrant my anger.”

“I appreciate that, Cassandra.” Elisabeth said in a voice that sounded much steadier than she felt. “I’ll leave you to rest. Good night.” She forced herself to remain calm as she went down the stairs to the atelier and back through the tunnel. When she’d closed the fake closet, she allowed herself a tiny happy yelp.

She headed up to her rooms feeling good. By the time she woke up tomorrow, they’d have Blackwall back whether he liked it or not, and tonight she was going to sleep in her own bed for the first time in over a year. She decided she’d even sleep in. 

\--

Waking up in Val Royeaux could be an amazing experience. Her bedroom was high enough away from the street that the noises of passer-bys rarely made it up to her. There were no engines or honking horns, just the sound of the pigeons on the roofs and the occasional squawk of a raven that was bringing a message somewhere important.

It could be relaxing and slow, and she’d missed it.

Despite all this, she had also missed her bed being invaded by a loud child who wanted cuddles.

“Auntie Lizzie, Maman said you were bringing me to school this morning! You need to get up or I’ll be late. And you’re really slow at getting up.”

“ _ La vérité sort de la bouche des enfants… _ ” Elisabeth grumped, giving the girl another squeeze. “I’ll be ready soon. I just need to go make sure my friends in the  _ atelier _ are alright. Perhaps some will want to walk you to school with me.”

“Ask the prince if he’ll come!” Camille said, running off.

With a stretch, Elisabeth got up. She looked through her closet, picking a pale blue dress that was more Orlesian than she usually wore, but still plain by Val Royeaux standards. She put up her hair with a leather tie, lamenting that she’d only been able to find rumours of rubber trees in Seheron; so not worth the hassle.

Down on the first floor, Elaine and Camille were having their  _ petit déjeuner _ . Elisabeth grabbed a croissant, then tucked a few more into an improvised kitchen towel satchel. “I’m going to nip to the  _ atelier _ and make sure everything is going as it should, then I’ll come back to walk Camille to school.”

“I’ll go with you, I have pressing business in the alienage as well.” Elaine said, without looking up from the serial she was reading.

Pressing business was their password for  _ Dame D’Argent  _ work. “Sounds great!” Elisabeth answered.

She ducked into the barren library, then into the cupboard and down. There was no screaming coming from the other end of the tunnel, which was encouraging.

She waved hello to the workers who were not fussed about their boss coming out of a closet, and headed upstairs to the apartments.

The Seeker had brought up one of the chairs from the  _ atelier _ and had parked herself in front of the room they’d reserved for Blackwall. The three men were speaking quietly in the bunk room as she stared at the closed door like it had personally insulted her.

“How’s it going?” she asked the Seeker.

“Well enough.” she said, adjusting her pose. “Your contact had to subdue Blackwall to bring him here. He will likely be out for another day. The others are discussing when we will head out.”

Elisabeth nodded and headed into the bunk room.

“Good morning. I hear Blackwall is incapacitated?”

“He’s stoned off his tits.” Varric said, obviously amused.

Mahanon and Solas looked less amused. “We will be departing this evening, whether he is awake or not.” Mahanon said. “We’ll need a cart to carry him if he’s still out.”

“I can ask Michel to locate one for us later. Shouldn’t be difficult. Would any of you like to come with me to the alienage? I need to walk Camille to the school, meet and greet with some people and maybe pick up a few things for someone.”

“I would like to accompany you.” Solas said, picking up his staff.

Varric was already dragging a small stool into the corridor. “I’ll stay here and keep the Seeker company.”

“Mahanon, Camille requested your presence by name.”

“Of course she did.” He shook his head, but had a hard time not smiling. “Well, who am I to refuse the smallest of my admirers?”

That is how, forty minutes later, Camille arrived at the alienage school on the arm of the Inquisitor. After Elisabeth had a few minutes chat with the teachers and Camille had hugged everyone, even Solas, Elaine took Elisabeth’s arm and pulled her further into the alienage.

When she’d first arrived, it had been a poverty-ridden shanty-town, with some of the collapsed buildings threatening to take out those around them. The overwhelming poverty wasn’t helped by the lack of education and sickness.

It had taken some time, but she’d managed to find different shops and builders willing to take on apprentices from the alienage. She’d started writing down the stories the elders would share, binding their histories with more care than the most rare Chantry texts.

She’s found people like Angel and Jean-Luc, and even Maker forsaken Clément, people who could continue her work if she popped away suddenly. She’d started funds that paid out interest annually to ensure that all these people would keep being paid if she disappeared or was killed for being too outspoken.

It wasn’t perfect. There were still Chevaliers, but Jean-Luc had hired a few more people, both elven and not, that kept the streets safe in a non-threatening way. There were still racists, but more and more people were coming around. It was slow, but she could already see the impact of it all.

They walked into the Hahren’s house, which was now also often used as a meeting place for elders, business owners and the militia. Elisabeth was expecting the Blight era stories one of the elders had promised her, but she was instead greeted with a serious-looking group of people. Elders were there, but also many of the people she’d relied on to pass messages and transfer lessons learned in Val Royeaux to the other alienages.

“Ah, you brought her, even better.”

Elisabeth sighed. If Michael was here, she probably wouldn’t enjoy this meeting. He was the elven owner of a new if successful wheelwrighting workshop, and he was great at hiring other people from the alienages and giving back to the community. He was a great example of someone who had apprenticed outside of Val Royeaux and returned successful. He just had ideas and attitudes that just rubbed her the wrong way.

“What’s going on, Michael?” Elaine asked. She stayed near Elisabeth as Michael stepped forward, his hand extended towards the Inquisitor. 

“Inquisitor! So glad to meet you, we’re always honoured to meet another elf who’s managed to sneak their way to the top!” He pumped Mahanon’s fist up and down. “It’s always great to show humans we don’t need them!”

Elaine took Elisabeth’s arm and pulled her close. “The Inquisitor and his party need to leave the city soon, which means Elisabeth will be leaving soon as well. Was there something you needed her for?”

“Ah, yes!” He turned to her, his smile hiding a sneer. “We’ve all noticed you’ve not been around recently; and we’re happy you’ve moved on to something you apparently find more important… But we had a few requests of you before you flitted off for good.”

Elisabeth’s chin went up a few degrees; a few of the people behind him looked properly embarrassed.

“There are a few things that would make many of us more comfortable: first, it’s unseemly for most of the investments in the alienage to be in some shem’s pocket. How can  _ La Horde Argentée _ claim any kind of independence when humans still hold the purse strings?”

Elaine gasped.

Elisabeth stayed still as a statue. “The what?”

“Oh, I forget, you’ve been out of the loop for so long! After your rather dramatic reveal at the Winter Palace, many of our people expressed disappointment with  _ La Dame D’Argent _ being human. Many were pleased when you appeared to have died before your companion could cart you away.”

“She nearly did die.” Solas said quietly, ice in his voice.

“Yes yes, but it’s better for the narrative of  _ La Horde Argentée _ if she did perish, that we be born of her ashes and allowed to act without her. Since you obviously have no more use for it, we’d need to have the mask you wore that night. It will be both a rallying point for our followers, and proof that you’ve properly  _ died _ .” The emphasis he put on the last word rang through the room. Everyone held their breaths.

This was technically what Elisabeth had always hoped would happen. She’d hoped she would start changes that would grow to be wider spread than just Val Royeaux, that would inspire others to take up metaphorical arms.

She just hadn’t expected it to hurt so damn much.

“It’s funny to hear you say that, Michael!” Elaine said, using an inflection Elisabeth had rarely heard. It was colder and louder than Elaine’s typical sweet tone of voice. “Lucky for you, Elisabeth has already had the same thoughts as you, and has already taken steps you’ll surely find satisfactory.”

Only her awareness of the Game allowed Elisabeth to remain aloof as she listened to Elaine.

“The pursestrings, as you so childishly call them, are already held by elven hands: mine and my husband’s. Isn’t that great?”

Before the man could respond, Solas stepped forward, facing Michael directly. For once, he drew to his full height. “Unfortunately for the other part of your request, the mask Lady St-Laurent wore to the Winter Palace was lost to the sands of the Western Approach. Many precious things were lost as we battled demons.”

The mention of demons made Elisabeth’s hand fly to her cheek unbidden, and all eyes in the room followed her movement. Regaining a smidgen of control, she traced down the three scars slowly, looking at them all one by one. 

“How many demons have you faced, sir?” the Inquisitor asked, his hands falling to his dagger. “Hmm?”

“None, Inquisitor.”

“That’s significantly less than Lady St-Laurent, who has been fighting tirelessly for the past year.” Mahanon declared. “If those are all your pressing issues resolved, Lady St-Laurent and I have some important meetings to attend. We obviously wish you luck with your endeavours.”

He took Elisabeth’s other arm and led her out, bringing Elaine with them and letting Solas cast a last glance at the room before following them.

They walked away without rushing, Elisabeth trying to keep her cool. As they approached the boundary of the alienage, a large Vashoth man emerged from an alley, making Solas and Mahanon jump. 

“Jean-Luc.” Elisabeth said, recognising him right away. He was looking good. Where Bull projected friendliness, Jean-Luc was serenity incarnate. She’d once seen him break a man’s neck with movements so slight and calm that she’d nearly missed it. “You heard about it already?”

“Had a man in the meeting. He ran.” The smallest of smiles appeared on his lips and was gone. “Don’t worry,  _ ma fallon _ .” he said, the elven words sounding natural despite the grey skin and the horns. “I will keep an eye on him.”

“You have my thanks. Keep an eye on Elaine and Michel, and on Camille as well.” She stepped forward and hugged him, and he pressed a small kiss to her head.

“I promise.”

They were five minutes walk away before Elaine started swearing up a storm in Orlesian.

“It’s alright, Elaine.”

“ _ Non! Ce fils de putain ne mérite rien _ ! He doesn’t need to know your name is on the accounts as well. Fuck him.” She spat on the floor with gusto. “I need to go tell Michel.”

“I’ll see her to your home.” Mahanon said. “I want to go check on Blackwall.”

“You go ahead too, Solas. I just have a few things I wanted to buy before leaving the city tonight.”

“I’ll remain with you, if that’s alright.”

“Of course, thank you.” She hugged both Elaine and Mahanon before they parted ways.

She and Solas walked in silence for a few minutes, heading towards the shopping sector along the winding streets. The white walls of Val Royeaux seemed colder than they had yesterday, the arches more oppressive. 

“You didn’t need to lie about the mask.” she said quietly.

Solas tutted. “Despite the unfortunate turn of events with Briala, I do believe you and your beloved still have good memories of the evening.”

She stilled and closed her eyes, remembering how handsome Krem had been, how much she had enjoyed flirting with him in front of the most important people in Orlais, how tenderly he had held her both before and after the attack.

“Thank you Solas.”

They began walking again.

“I know how it feels to have something you hold dear evolve without you.”

“I guess you do.” She sighed, and mentally shook herself. “Right, Elaine was correct, fuck him. I intend to get presents for my  _ beloved _ ,” she grinned at the word, “and I need something fatty and sweet to help me get over the morning.”

“Perhaps one of the bakeries we passed yesterday would be amenable?”

“Excellent plan. We’ll get plenty for us, and some to take back for the Chargers as well; Skinner may hurt me if I don’t bring back something Orlesian and delicious for her.”

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> atelier - workshop  
> J’vais devoir faire, Dame. - I'll have to do, Lady.  
> oui - yes  
> maman - mother  
> La vérité sort de la bouche des enfants - truth comes from the mouths of babes  
> petit déjeuner - breakfast  
> La Dame D’Argent - The Silver Lady  
> La Horde Argentée - The Silver Horde  
> ma falon - my friend  
> Non! Ce fils de putain ne mérite rien - No! That son of a whore deserves nothing!


	19. Terror Isn't The Only Demon

Trying to remember all the things she’d done in the past eight or nine years was a difficult task, especially when she’d tried so hard not to leave too much incriminating paperwork around. Still, Elisabeth kept writing things in the notebooks she brought as they made their way back to Skyhold, with an angry, bound Blackwall in the back of a cart.

He was uber-pissed, but that wasn’t her problem.

She was pretty sure she’d just about finished writing everything she’d done in and around Wycome to help save the alienage and Mahanon’s clan. The dates were fuzzy, but she remembered finding Brianna in Val Royeaux. She’d been arguing with a vendor who’d been paying less for items brought in by anyone with pointed ears. By the time the argument was over - and Brianna had gotten a fair price for her goods - Elisabeth had already decided to hire her if possible.

Brianna had been a scribe most of her life, but when her master had died, his idiot family had decided to use her as a maid, since they didn’t trust her to transcribe what they said reliably. Elisabeth had snatched her up, buying out her contract without hesitation. Sending her to Wycome to start a school and foster positive elf-human relations had been an easy first step.

Finding someone to look at the wells was harder. It turned out that plumbers and groundwater surveyors weren’t really a thing in a world where most people were fine with drinking out of puddles. She’d had to pay to bring in someone from Kirkwall to look at the wells, to certify them as potable. Father and son, Campbell and Carl Sharp had come with their tools, ropes and difficult to upset stomachs. There had been a few bodies pulled out of the wells, only one of them recent, and copious amounts of trash. Two of the wells had been condemned, and four new ones dug around the city. Carl had met a local girl and decided to stay, taking on an apprentice of his own in Wycome. They’d even gone out to the local Dalish clans and given them designs for easy water filtration devices.

Clément and Anne-Marie had taken care of the Duke. That was all she knew and all she wanted to know.

She was about to start writing all she knew about the Trevelyans, when the Inquisitor called for a halt for the evening.

“I wish I was able to read and ride as you do.” Cassandra said. “I always feel nauseous whenever I try.”

“It didn’t seem to stop you when I gave you that latest chapter of _Sword and Shield_ , Seeker!” Varric taunted.

Cassandra blushed and glared at him.

Elisabeth stopped herself giggling. “I used to manage it when I was going much faster than this trot.” she said, making herself slightly sad. “It helps that my horse is being led by the cart!”

Varric had been driving the cart Blackwall and their purchases were stacked in. He pulled it over as everyone dismounted. 

“I’ll go have a look for some firewood.” Mahanon said, while Varric and Cassandra grabbed the kits to make up the tents. Solas began taking off the saddles and packs from the mounts. Elisabeth stroked her horse’s head, then looked at Blackwall who hadn’t made a move to get out of the cart.

They’d shuffled tent assignments around, so that she’d be sleeping with Cassandra, Varric and Mahanon would take the second, and Solas and Blackwall would share the third. She still wasn’t sure if she was on good enough terms with the Seeker to share a sleeping space, but it’s not like she had much choice. The previous few nights hadn’t been too awkward.

A yelp from the trees drew everyone’s attention, and Mahanon ran back into the clearing, his hand sputtering green light angrily. His teeth were clenched and the skin of his face was taught like a death mask; Elisabeth wanted to comfort him, but the elf was already gearing up.

“What do we do with Bookworm?” Varric asked, as he tied on his bracers.

“We’ll leave you here with her.” the Inquisitor said quickly. “I’ll go with Solas and Cassandra.”

“You can’t go to a rift with only three people!” Elisabeth shouted. She looked around. Blackwall had shimmied off of the cart and was standing tall and tense, his hands still bound in front of him. “Leave me with Blackwall.” she said quickly. “You must have a spare sword or something around. Untie him and give it to him. He’ll keep me safe.”

“You would trust him with your life?” Cassandra asked. She was ready, her shield on her back and her sword at her side.

Elisabeth looked at the bound man. “Absolutely.”

“Fine.” Mahanon took one of his daggers and slit the rope at Blackwall’s wrists. Cassandra was already heading over with one of her backup swords in its sheath. Blackwall took it, but the Seeker held on for an extra second, her eyes locking with his.

Solas walked over to Elisabeth, putting a hand on her shoulder. “Should you encounter demons, remember that they have trouble sensing you. Run and hide, Elisabeth.” He released her with a squeeze, and went to fetch some last minute supplies from his hart’s saddle bags.

Elisabeth realised that Varric had pulled Blackwall down by his ear, whispering something most likely threatening into it.

“Let’s go.” Mahanon barked. He headed off with confidence; perhaps the mark helped him locate the rifts, like a painful magnet. The others followed behind him, and then Elisabeth was left alone in a half-made camp with Blackwall and the snuff of the horses and hart.

“Right.” she said, still a bit stunned with how quickly the warriors had left the camp. She looked around. Blackwall’s dark eyes were fixed on her, his mouth in a thoughtful, practiced frown.

“Right.” she repeated awkwardly. “I’m going to get these tents set up. They won’t want to do it when they get back, I imagine.”

Without looking back at her guard, she headed to the tents that Cassandra and Varric had started laying out. They’d stretched the stitched leather body of the tent to a rough square. She could figure out where the tent poles would fit in, but then there was the mess of cords and ground stakes that would tension the whole thing. She wasn’t stupid, she told herself. She could figure this out.

“Not done this a lot, have you, my lady?”

Elisabeth did her best impression of one of Cassandra’s grunts. “I’ve camped plenty in this backwards world, but I’ll usually bring along someone who is an expert at this, or sleep in my carriage. It’s like a tent on wheels.”

There was a snuff from Blackwall, who gently pushed her aside and started on the tent with practiced moves. She wasn’t sure if she was being mocked; she probably deserved it. She attempted to help where she could, hammering the stakes in after Blackwall had positioned them.

It took them longer than they’d be likely to admit, but they’d set up two of the tents by the time it started getting dark. They took a break before the last tent to gather wood from nearby, staying together as they did. Once the fire was lit, they sat on a downed tree trunk Blackwall had dragged over.

“Why do you trust me?” he asked quietly. “Knowing what you know?”

“I’ve always known, of course, and I always knew you were trying your best.” She looked at his shocked face before remembering he’d missed the war room reveal. “Shit, you didn’t know yet.”

“What do I not know?” 

She suddenly realised that she couldn’t just tell the whole truth in this moment, not to the emotionally compromised warrior on a hair trigger in front of her. No matter how weird, having Cole pull the truth out of her brain had taken a lot of the pressure off. Now, in the dark of night, she didn’t feel like freaking out her only protection.

“It’s complicated, Blackwall. I’ll… I’ll explain when the others get back.”

“You knew I was a monster this whole time? Why didn’t you tell the Inquisitor?”

“We’re all guilty of some things, Thom.” He flinched as she used his real first name. “We all have things we wish we could have done differently. You might decide to reconsider who the monster is after I…”

She stopped talking as a swift breeze blew through the camp, blowing the smoke from the campfire into her face. She stood and coughed, walking around the fire. This side of the camp wasn’t much better, smelling like burning tires, like burning rubber on burning pavement…

“There’s a demon close by!” she shouted, running back towards Blackwall. She reached into the leather belt at her back and pulled out two of her small throwing knives. She knew perfectly well they wouldn’t take down a demon, but she wasn’t willing to have a repeat of last time.

“How can you know?” Blackwall demanded, anger in his voice. “What are you?”

“Solas called me human-shaped? I can smell it coming, you have to trust me!”

An unnatural scream tore through the night, and suddenly he no longer needed to trust her.

“That’s a terror demon.” he said, pulling out his borrowed sword. He looked around, but it didn’t look like the Seeker had a spare shield. There was a long wheezing sound from their left and the demon came out from between the trees, impossibly long legs and arms all astray, gingerly stepping over invisible obstacles.

It had too many eyes, and way too many teeth in its elongated mouth. Its wheezed breaths, this close, whistled like quiet versions of its screams, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and making the knives in her hands tremble as she shivered. She and Blackwall seemed to have the attention of most of its eyes, with a few of the top ones spinning slightly away like a chameleon’s.

Solas was going to kill her, she thought. “Do we have a chance if you can sneak around and get it from behind?” she whispered to Blackwall.

“A chance? Run, my lady, save yourself!”

“Never mind that, just answer me.”

“If… If I can get a decent hit across the back of its head we may yet survive.”

“Great, you try to do that while I distract it by not being real.” The sentence sounded as mad to her as it did to him, but he slunk back and around as she started making small kissing noises at the demon.

“ _Viens ici mon beau gros minou_!”

The demon’s eyes swivelled, its head swivelled, even its torso swivelled, all of them rotating at slightly different speeds, towards Elisabeth.

“I bet you can hear me, but you can’t quite see me, can you...” Her voice was shaking badly, as she tried to slowly move away from where Blackwall went, hoping to draw it towards her a bit more. The demon slammed his hands on the ground, a green portal appearing under its sharp fingers and toes.

Elisabeth scrambled backwards as it sunk into the earth, as a matching green portal appeared at her feet. She’d barely made it out of the circle when it popped back into existence, throwing its hands up, eyes swivelling wildly looking for her.

“Here.” she managed to squeak out. She swore as the demon’s mouth opened wide in her direction, inhaling deep as if it was smelling her despite the lack of nose. It moved forward as she backed up, each of its steps requiring her to take six or seven. It tilted its head, and began to raise one of its arms.

Blackwall’s blade slashed through the night air, catching it right in the neck, his roar combining with the demon’s as he pushed all of his strength into attempting to decapitate it. The demon fell to the ground but was still all limbs and reach, now clawing towards Blackwall as it tried to get free.

Elisabeth backed up some more, trying to get away from the demon; she felt her ankle twist painfully on the uneven ground, but swallowed the cry of pain she might have otherwise allowed herself. 

She tightened up the muscles in her right arm and threw her first dagger, which somehow hit the demon in the shoulder. It tried to look at her briefly, but with Blackwall’s weight on the sword, the twist only contributed to the blade cutting deeper. She palmed the other blade and threw it, aiming for any part of the green mess on the ground. She didn’t know if it found its mark, because with a final grunt, Blackwall’s sword went through the neck and out the jaw of the terror demon, cutting through the last of the skin easily, its head rolling off as its body collapsed.

Blackwall fell onto the body as it stopped twitching and started to dissolve. He rolled out of the mess, then walked slowly over to where Elisabeth had allowed herself to fall on the ground, the pain in her ankle finally getting the best of her. He attempted to kneel beside her, but his goo covered knee slipped and they both just lay there panting.

“Are you alright, my lady?” he asked, his breath catching on the words.

“I think I sprained my ankle. You?”

“It got me in the arm, but I think the gambeson took the worst of it.”

“Is that the ugly padded vest thing?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Great.” She took a few breaths, trying to get her bearings. “I don’t think I can get up.”

“I don’t think I can carry you, my lady.”

“Super great. Let’s wait for the others then.”

They laid there in silence for a while, shoulder to shoulder, knowing full well that should another demon or even a fennec come past, they were probably done for. They could see the fire’s glow at the other end of the clearing, but were too far to hear its crackling. With grunts of pain, Elisabeth reached down and removed the boot and sock on her injured foot, hoping relieving the pressure might help the pain. It didn’t. She laid back down, exhausted by that small action.

“I killed children… a whole family, just for the coin.” Blackwall said quietly.

Elisabeth didn’t know what he needed to hear right now, but all she had was the truth.

“I knew the Conclave would explode and didn’t tell anyone.” she answered.

“Maker’s breath.” he inhaled, unable to say anything else.

“I told you we were all monsters; we’re just doing our best to do good while we can, yeah?”

He didn’t answer her and she didn’t feel up to speaking anymore. After a few more minutes in silence, she began to shiver even though the night wasn’t cold yet. She clamped her teeth together harder than was comfortable.

“...you should have seen yourself, Seeker! When you hit that last shade… Andraste’s… Liz! Liz where are you?”

Elisabeth tried to call back, but as soon as she opened her mouth her teeth began chattering, clacking together.

“We’re here!” Blackwall called. “We got attacked by a terror demon!”

Varric and the others ran over. Solas allowed a mage light to bloom from his staff; the Inquisitor and his team looked tired, with bruises and a few cuts still showing. Blackwall was covered in green ichor, his upper right arm bleeding liberally, the gambeson torn and shredded all over his arms and torso. Elisabeth was less bloody, but dirty from where she fell, and her left ankle was overly swollen, black and purple bruises blooming out from her toes to halfway up her knee. .

“Where’s the demon?” the Inquisitor asked, looking around.

“We defeated it. The lady foolishly distracted it so I could get behind and decapitate it.” he said, as Cassandra helped him up. His face took on a greenish hue in the blue magelight. The Seeker handed him a healing potion, which he drank down quickly, his colour instantly improving.

“You distracted a terror demon?” Solas asked, incredulously.

“It worked.” Elisabeth responded, feeling like a child being chastised.

“Andraste’s tits.” Varric sighed, shaking his head. “Seeker, can you…?” he pointed at Elisabeth, and Cassandra got the hint, picking up the smaller woman under her arms and knees as if she were a child.

“You are shivering.” she said gravely, as they approached the tents.

“It’s probably just shock.” Elisabeth replied. She was set down inside of a tent, and Cassandra was quickly replaced by Solas and Varric, with matching angry, exasperated faces.

“What happened to running?” Solas asked, as he covered her ankle with a blanket and summoned ice over it.

Elisabeth hissed at the cold. “I couldn’t outrun it, those damn things teleport!”

“She’s got you there, Chuckles.” Varric laughed, though Elisabeth noticed it didn’t reach his eyes.

“I’m alright, Varric. It’s just a sprain, and it only looks bad cause Solas can’t heal it. I just need to ice it, keep it elevated and wait.

“When we get to Skyhold and I’ve had a chance to rest, I’ll see what Dorian and I can do to help it along.”

“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll just wait it out…”

She stopped at the sound of someone clearing their throat. “May I speak with Elisabeth for a minute please?” the Inquisitor asked from outside the tent.

Solas bowed his head to her, though his eyes still held some annoyance. Varric stood, put a heavy hand on her head and sighed. Both left, and Mahanon came in. He sat next to Elisabeth, perhaps dropping down onto the ground more than he intended.

“You are never leaving Skyhold again.”

“Oh, come on!” she whined, trying to turn to face him properly but wincing as she moved her injured foot.

“No, listen, you work with books. You didn’t sign up for any of this demon shit!” he half-shouted.

“Neither did you!” she shouted at him. She inhaled sharply, wishing she could take the words back.

Mahanon just stared at his glowing hand. His lip was split, and the side of his jaw had a half-healed green bruise still on it.

She took his glowing hand in hers, blocking out the glow. Their hands were almost the same size, though his fingers were finer than hers. She didn’t know if other people felt something when they touched it. She felt nothing. “I almost tried to take it.” she said, squeezing his hand.

“What?”

“There was a time where I thought that if I could interrupt the ritual, if I could pick up Corypheus’ orb, it might save one of you the pain. I didn’t know who would… There was always a possibility of it being another.”

“Who else could it have been?”

“There are two Qunari twins, Herah and Kaaras. I managed to find the mercenary group they work for and hired them so they’d be unavailable to go to the Conclave. There were two Trevelyan cousins, Maxwell and Evelyn. Maxwell died when the temple exploded.”

She’d met him, briefly. She’d let him die.

“I never was able to get a hold of either of the Cadash dwarves. It’s nearly impossible to get information about the Carta, especially if you don’t want them to have information about you. Getting a hold of anyone in the dwarven world is a nightmare… It could have been Ellana as well.”

“She’s still with the clan.” He shook his head. “I wouldn’t wish this on her.”

“I didn’t wish it on you either.” The whole of the evening started weighing heavily, and she cried despite her. “When I figured out that I couldn’t be healed properly, or that demons wouldn’t even be able to see me properly, I had to abandon the idea. I don’t even know if I could survive going into the fade, much less be able to contain some of it in my hand.” She wrapped her arms around Mahanon’s neck, pulling him forward. “I’m so sorry, Mahanon. I’m so so sorry.”

She was tired of crying in tents. She was tired of feeling out of place. She was tired of Thedas.

Mahanon hugged her back tightly, then helped her lay down on her bedroll. “We’re not putting up another tent tonight. We’ll squeeze in. It shouldn’t be too bad with one on watch.” He rearranged the blanket over her, trying not to disturb Solas’ ice. “We’ll be back in Skyhold tomorrow, and until we defeat Corypheus, you’re not leaving the keep.”

“There’s one small trip I need to go on. Just in the Hinterlands. Just the one.”

“Maybe. We’ll see.”

He left the tent, and she listened to the others discuss watches. Cassandra entered the tent first, without most of her armour in order to fit better. Varric followed her after, and both settled down on either side of Elisabeth. It was cramped, warm and she was safe.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translation:
> 
> Viens ici mon beau gros minou - Come here my pretty kitty


	20. I Got You Some Mercenaries!

When they arrived in Skyhold, Elisabeth was sitting in the cart they’d gotten to hold Blackwall, and Blackwall was riding her lovely mare, who seemed a bit miffed to have to carry a bulky warrior instead of her. Cullen met them right away with a half-dozen soldiers. They put shackles on Blackwall as soon as he got off the horse, getting him ready to be carted off to the dungeons.

Watching Mahanon put a kind hand on the warrior’s shoulder before he was taken away helped relieve some of the stress Elisabeth felt about the upcoming trial.

“Hey, Krem-puff, you forgot your hammer!” Bull’s voice carried across the courtyard, announcing the arrival of a sweaty, unarmed Krem running up to the cart. He was glistening, obviously fresh from the training field, wearing a tight sleeveless leather vest that showed off his arms. Elisabeth couldn’t have stopped herself grinning if she’d tried.

“What happened this time?” he asked, his eyes shifting from her ankle to her face.

“I just sprained my ankle, it’s fine.”

“She’s leaving out the part where she sprained it while helping Blackwall defeat a terror demon.” Cassandra said, a drop of pride in her condescending tone.

“I just distracted it.” Elisabeth said, as Krem’s mouth fell open.

“Oh, so these aren’t your daggers we found in the demon’s remains then?” Varric said, holding up her two throwing knives. The ichor had stuck to them, staining them black and rusty.

“I don’t even know if the second one hit it, so only the first one counts. Give them here.” She tried to reach for them, but Varric held them out of reach.

He tutted at her. “I’ll have Dagna give them a once over; she can get demon goo off of anything.”

“Fine. I’m going to need crutches for the next week or two. Do you think the infirmary has a spare pair?” She began to shuffle forward on the cart bed.

“Why do you need crutches?” Cassandra asked.

“Yeah,” Varric added, pushing Krem forward. “Why would you need crutches when you have a strapping young lad to carry you wherever you need to go?”

Krem was blushing quite hard, but he opened his arms, offering her a ride with a crooked smile. Elisabeth sighed, twitched when he put his arm under her knees, and forgot what she was annoyed about the moment her arms wrapped around Krem’s neck. His other arm was at her waist, his fingers gently pressing into her side. He smelled like sweat and leather and home.

“I missed you.” she whispered into his neck, her nose brushing against the closely shorn hair on the side of his head. She knew she was blushing as bad as he was.

“Shall I bring you to your room, Amata?” he asked, his eyes full of mischief.

She was feeling remarkably breathless already. “Yes please.”

Varric was laughing, the Seeker was tittering, and of course, here came the Chargers and The Iron Bull.

“Krem, what do I have to do to get carried around like that?” Dalish asked, swooning into a grinning Grim’s arms.

“Be exquisite and injured.” he barked back, trying to ignore them.

“Hey Stitches!” Rocky complained, “Why didn’t I get the same treatment last time I got hurt? I’m exquisite?”

“Exquisitely aggravating, perhaps.” the medic corrected.

Elisabeth lifted her head from Krem’s shoulder. “I guess none of you idiots want any of the pastries I brought back from Val Royeaux, then! Krem and I will just have to enjoy them ourselves!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’ll enjoy yourselves, yeah.” Bull said, elbowing Stitches who nearly fell over. “Got those ones with the cream filled centers that just come apart in your mouth?” he asked. The Chargers exploded into laughs and giggles, as Krem finally entered the keep proper.

He headed in the direction of Elisabeth’s room in one of the wings behind the rotunda. His ears were red and hot, but even he was having trouble not smiling. Elisabeth inhaled long and deep, her fingers playing with the back of his collar. “You smell so damn good… So I’m exquisite, am I?”

“Absolutely.” he said, as he opened her door with the hand under her knees, careful not to knock her ankle into the door frame. “And apparently also amazing at getting herself in trouble, but we’ll talk about that later.” He kicked the door closed behind him and walked over to the bed, putting her down gently. He went to pull away, but she grabbed the edge of his leather shirt.

“None of that gentlemanly stuff please. I missed you a lot.” She tugged and he let himself get pulled along, landing beside her and only causing her to wince a little. Before he could do anything noble like apologise, she captured his mouth in a kiss.

All the stress of the trip started melting away, and she felt her shoulders loosen for the first time since the demon attack. There was no burning tarmac smell here, no danger or horror; just the taste of his mouth and the feel of his hands on her hips and-

Dorian didn’t bother knocking before barging in with her saddlebags on one shoulder. “Solas said you needed healing right a…” he stopped short and stared, for once rendered speechless.

“Thank you for bringing up my things, Dorian. I’ll see you in a few hours?” Elisabeth said. Krem had hidden his head in the crook of her neck; his teeth gently nipping at the spot under her ear was proving to be distracting. “Maybe tomorrow?” She said with a tiny shudder. 

“Yes, right. You look fine. Right.” He opened the door, but half-turned to look back. “Aclassi.”

Krem barely lifted his head. “Pavus.”

Dorian shut the door behind himself. 

“Definitely tomorrow.” Krem growled.

“Definitely.”

—

Solas and Dorian came by the next morning, after knocking and announcing themselves loudly. Elisabeth and Krem were sitting sideways across her bed with their backs to the wall, Krem going through the bits that Elisabeth had brought back from Val Royeaux for him.

She’d raided the leftover bins and the thread stashes at the  _ atelier _ in order to find bits he could use. There were pieces of thin leather that could be used to patch tents or clothing, quarter meters of pretty fabric that would probably be made into nugs, and enough half-skeins of silk threads to make up what she’d “stolen” from him all those months ago.

She’d also gotten him small and delicate golden thread scissors, a pack of strong needles, and a balm to keep the leather of gloves supple.

“I see you’ve had a chance to  _ rest _ .” Dorian said, smirking. Elisabeth smiled, but Krem gave him an unimpressed look.

“Did they not teach you to knock in your fancy Circles, Altus?”

“He probably got kicked out of them before they got to that lesson.” Solas said calmly, as he knelt next to the bed and started to unwind the cloth bandage around Elisabeth’s ankle.

Dorian sputtered and Krem snorted, making Elisabeth break out in giggles.

“How does it feel?” Solas asked, as he manipulated her ankle. Her giggles had cut out as he did, replaced by soft hisses.

“Not terrible.” she lied as she winced.

“We will try and reduce the swelling.”

“Please don’t drain yourselves. I can wait. Back in my world, it was painkillers and rest for this kind of injury.” Oh Maker she missed ibuprofen. She missed proper toothpaste and deodorant and water that came out of pipes.

“What’s wrong, Amata?” Krem said quietly, putting his arm around her shoulders. Solas had started sending healing magic into her ankle. Dorian was pushing some of his magic into her as well, letting Solas guide it.

“Sometimes I just miss things from before… A lot of things were simpler, or more advanced.” She didn’t like talking about it. Her thoughts tended to spiral out of control when she did, and by the time she snapped out of it she’d have self-inflicted bruises all along her arms. Even now, her hand went to her opposite forearm, her thumb worrying at the skin there, pushing harder than was wise.

Krem put his hand on her, stilling her thumb. He tucked his head in close, whispering as the mages tried their best to sort out her ankle. “I get it. I miss some things from before I left the army. I miss the spicy food, and how easy it was to fit in. But we’re here now, and we belong here because we decided we did, right?”

“Right.” she said quietly. She took a deep breath. “Right. Gentlemen, I think that will do. It already feels better than it did when I woke up. Thank you both.”

The two mages looked a bit stretched, but not nearly as weak as Solas had looked at the Winter Palace.

“You’re right, Solas, there is definitely something different about her energy; something foreign.”

Solas looked smug. “That may be the first time you’ve acknowledged I was correct about something. You’re slipping.”

Dorian sneered. “I was referring to your magical knowledge, not your choice of outfits. That’s probably the reason.”

“That must be it...”

A knock at the door interrupted their snipping. “Who is it?” Elisabeth asked.

“Phillips, my lady, one of Nightingale’s.”

“Come in!”

The door opened, and if the scout was surprised to see three men in her room, he didn’t show it. “The lady Nightingale requests an interview with you at your earliest convenience, Lady St-Laurent.” He was human and much broader than most of Leliana’s scouts.

“I don’t think I can make up to her roost in my state.” Elisabeth said. Leliana would know this, of course. “I’m also not willing to ask someone else to carry me all the way up there.”

“She could meet you here.”

“Sure, I would love to welcome her into my quarters again. Please let her know I’ll be ready in fifteen minutes.”

The scout half-bowed and left the room.

“Again?” Krem asked. “Why was the Nightingale in your quarters?”

“I woke up to her sitting on the edge of my bed one morning. Scarier than the terror demon, but only by a smidge.”

Everyone in the room looked uncomfortable at the thought, even the powerful ancient almost-god.

“Alright, gentlemen, time to go. Krem will help me get properly dressed for receiving company.” At her words both men seemed to realise she was only wearing a knee-length sleeveless shift and blushed. Elisabeth reflected that all of Thedas would have an aneurysm if they knew about bikinis. “Shoo!” she said kindly.

They left, bumbling only slightly, as Krem shook his head. “What will you be wearing, my lady?”

“Whatever you want, you choose.”

He went up to her small wardrobe and began browsing the tunics and dresses there. “Well, I know what I’d like to see you in, but I don’t know if the Nightingale would appreciate that much skin…”

“Oh come on, Bull must be rubbing off on you…” She saw the smirk and put up a finger. “No, no comments about rubbing off anything!”

Krem laughed as he pulled out a dark green tunic, finding smalls and leggings in the drawer below.

Despite their best efforts, Elisabeth was decent by the time Leliana’s soft knock sounded.

“Come in!” Elisabeth said for the third time today. She was very popular apparently.

Leliana slipped into the room, raising an eyebrow when she saw Krem was still there. He leaned down and kissed her head. “I’ll come see you later.” he said, letting his gaze rest on the spymistress for an extra half-second before he left the room.

Lelinana sat down at the end of the bed as she had that groggy morning. The notebook Elisabeth had started filling out during her trip was in her hands, as well as a few missives.

“I have a few questions about some of your activities.” she said coolly, her fingers tapping on the notebook.

“I’ll do what I can to answer. You do realise that I’ve only started writing down what I’ve done.”

“I hope so. There are many other things I expect to find out about soon enough.”

“Maker, you’re unsettling when you want to be.” Elisabeth said, shaking her head.

Leliana’s glare was cold.

“Ask away.”

She had questions about Brianna. the plumbers from Kirkwall, Jean-Luc and Michael. She wanted to know if Michael was going to be a problem. Elisabeth was pretty sure she was telling the truth when she said he wouldn’t be.

She had Elisabeth explain the concept of paying out dividends, which was how most of her plans were put into effect. This wasn’t the first time she’d had to explain it; she’d had to convince one of the banks in Val Royeaux that it would be worth going into business with her, and not being an economist by trade had meant that getting them to understand what she wanted from them had been incredibly painful.

A dwarven clerk had finally caught on, almost by accident, when Elisabeth had started ranting about chickens and chicks and eggs. Kelarynn Bellard had suddenly found herself promoted and in charge of this new, lucrative way of borrowing money from customers, and Elisabeth had secured herself a very good, locked in payout percentage for all present and future investments.

She now had different accounts paying out quarterly dividends to all of the different schools she had founded, to her permanent mercenary contracts and many more that simply accrued in order to be able to account for emergencies like dresses for the Winter Palace or hiring the Chargers for three months.

“Why go through all the trouble of creating so many accounts?” the spymistress asked, once she’d understood the concept.

“So that when I die the work continues. I don’t know how I popped into this world, and I don’t know if or when I’ll pop back out.” She took a deep breath. The room still smelled faintly of leather and Krem. “I’ve never known if I would see any of my plans come to fruition.” There had already been too many close calls.

Elisabeth wasn’t sure, but Leliana may have looked uncomfortable for half a moment. Probably not though.

“What do you know about the Emprise du Lion?” the spymistress asked.

“Oh, that place is a hot mess. I’m hoping that more of Sahrnia survived this time around.”

“How come?”

“When the Inquisitor showed up, without fail, there would be only half a dozen villagers left. That and Mistress Poulin.”

“Ah yes, about Mistress Poulin…”

“Yeah, that was me. Well, I didn’t kill her, Anne-Marie did. She was going to unknowingly sell the Sahrnia mine to the red templars. Forgivable, of course. Then she was going to start selling the weaker villagers in order to feed the stronger ones. Then the stronger ones to protect the younger ones. Then more to save herself.”

“How many other people have you had killed?”

“Uh… I’d have to check my notes in my trunk.”

“You can’t remember?”

“There is so fucking much to remember, Leliana…”

The spymistress shook her head in disbelief. “I bring up Sarnia because we’ve received an envoy asking for the Inquisition’s help.”

“Who?”

“A mercenary name Adaar.”

“Herah is here?” If she was here in person, that meant that things in the village had gone bad. “Shit. I need to meet with her right away.” Elisabeth tried to get up, forgetting that her ankle wasn’t up to supporting her weight right now.

Leliana caught her arm as she tried to swallow a yelp.

“Phillips!” Lelinana called out.

The door opened and the scout came in, no visible weapons out but his fists clenched. He relaxed when he saw that nothing was obviously needing a pounding.

“Could you please carry Lady St-Laurent to her office in the library? I’ll have our guest brought there as well.”

“Of course, Nightingale.” He stepped further into the room. “Pardon my hands, my lady.”

In a swift move he had her up in his arms and she was being carried through the halls. This wasn’t anywhere near as fun as being carried by Krem. She was going to need to find crutches soon, she decided, because this was no fun whatsoever.

\--

Dorian had insisted she sit in his chair, with her foot up on a stool. It also meant he had a perfect opportunity to eavesdrop.

“I would have been fine in my office, you know.” Elisabeth tried to argue.

“Now now, nothing but the best for…”

“Lady Lizzie!”

Herah had spotted her from across the open space, and ran around. She was as imposingly beautiful as Elisabeth remembered, her Vashoth pride letting her stand tall among the humans and elves around the library.

“Herah, I’m so glad to see you! I can’t quite get up right now.” She waved at her bandaged ankle.

The other woman took her staff off her back and knelt next to Dorian’s chair, wrapping her in an engulfing hug. “Do they know you don’t heal right?” she asked quietly, her gaze drifting to Dorian who was trying to pretend he wasn’t listening.

“They do.”

Herah nodded. She had always been very protective of her. Elisabeth had been just as protective of her and her twin, and by proxy of the rest Valo-Kas. Herah and Kaaras were some of the only Vashoth in the company; they’d warmed up to Elisabeth quickly, whereas some of the Tal-Vashoth members still kept their distance from the strange woman who had hired them to save elf slaves and protect a human village. Still, she paid handsomely and Shokrakar was happy to let the twins deal with her.

“What’s happened?” Elisabeth asked. “Why did you leave Sarhnia?”

“Things are getting bad. The red ones are getting more aggressive; they loosed a massive demon of red stone onto the village. They killed Meraad. Took Taaras and some of the villagers. They also killed the birds we tried to send out to you.”

She knew that the Red Templars had taken the quarry even without Mistress Poulain to sell it to them. Who was going to stop them, really? Still, she had hoped that with the Valo-Kas protecting the village, they’d have to look further afield for slaves, giving her time. Apparently that time had run out.

“I’m glad you made it here in one piece.” Elisabeth said.

“Look at this new scar I received from the red knife wielder who tried to stop me!” she said proudly. She lifted her shirt high to show a ripped scar across the left side of her abs. There was a shocked noise from somewhere else in the library, but Elisabeth just grinned.

“Very impressive. Do you like mine?” she asked, pointing at her face.

“They’re gorgeous, Liz. Were my brother here he would proposition you again.”

Dorian choked and coughed, rather spoiling his ruse. “I believe someone might have a problem with that, don’t you think?” he said, once he’d recovered.

“You have someone in your bed?” Herah asked.

“Yeah, yes.” Elisabeth couldn’t stop the grin. “He’s really great, Herah.”

“Good. My brother will be disappointed, but he’ll live.”

Elisabeth took a deep breath. “Dorian, would you run up and let Leliana know I’d need to meet with the Inquisitor and the advisors at their earliest convenience?”

“What am I, your errand boy?” Dorian asked with a smile.

“Not to worry, little one,” Herah said, eyeing him up and down, “the stairs will be good for your thighs.”

“I thought Bull was bad…” he said, leaving.

“Your ass too!” Herah shouted.

Elisabeth held her fist to her mouth to stop laughing.

\--

Many hours later, she was in the tavern and still hadn’t gotten her hands on a pair of crutches. She’d been carried by Herah to the war room, then carried by Cassandra back to her room while Herah was getting her pick of staves in the Undercroft, then carried down to the tavern by Krem who had kindly laughed at her and blamed her for being so portable.

The Inquisitor was heading out to the Emprise in the morning. She’d told them as much as she’d dared, as much as she’d remembered. She knew the bridge was out, and that the keep was full of red templars. She’d remembered about the infected giants, and she’d also hoped that they wouldn’t be there. She warned them about the demon, whose name she didn’t recall. 

Choice Spirit. Asshole. Whatever.

She was wedged between Krem and Herah, who both kept her warm; Krem with his arm around her waist, and Herah by just being there and radiating her regular kossith heat.

“What is wrong with the sharp blonde elf?” Herah asked, her head tilting towards Sera, who had been remarkably quiet for the whole evening. She was staring at the Vashoth so intensely that Elisabeth wasn’t sure that Sera had blinked in the last hour. Maybe she was exaggerating, but not by much.

“I think she likes you.” Elisabeth answered. She sat up straighter to whisper something into Herah’s ear. Herah grinned like a cat, then got up.

Sera startled when Herah gently dropped a large hand on the elf’s shoulder. “Hey there, pretty little one. I hear your bedroom is just upstairs.”

“Yeah, why?” Sera said, not quite caught up yet.

Herah leant all the way down, giving Sera quite the view. She said something under her breath that had the elf blushing and nodding along furiously.

“Excellent.” Herah declared. She picked up the rogue and swung her over her shoulder like a disobedient sack of potatoes. Sera guffawed loudly, reaching down and attempting to slap Herah’s ass as they climbed the stairs. She could barely reach.

“Well, that escalated quickly.” The Iron Bull said, trying to get away with his terrible wink. “Get it?”

Dorian rolled his eyes. “You’re terrible, Amatus.” 

“Terrible but… What was the word, Krem-de-la-Crème?”

“I believe the word was exquisite, The Iron Bull.” Elisabeth answered for him. She nestled her head onto his shoulder and felt him kiss her hair tenderly. She let herself melt into the feelings of warmth and contentment.

Half an hour later, after yawning for the fourth time, she nudged him gently.

“Could you please bring me to the infirmary?” she asked.

He pulled back to get a good look at her. “Are you not feeling well?”

“I’m fine, I just want to borrow a pair of crutches. I’ve had quite enough of being carried around like a parcel.”

“Aw, but I like playing courier!”

She elbowed him slightly harder as he laughed.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All of this chapter was supposed to fit in the previous one... I don't actually know how this has blown up to 60k words, but here we are. Thank you for indulging me. There are a quite a few more things I'd like Elisabeth to deal with, and some more flashback-y bits and ocs to bring back, so there's still quite a bit more I want to write about.


	21. Sweet Dreams Are Made of Hugs

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She's been trying so hard to avoid "quests".

She was sitting in her office, flipping through an amazing illustrated herb encyclopedia, listening to the sounds of the practicing soldiers outside. She’d been so happy she’d gotten this office; it was huge and perfectly suited. The book switched to a chapter about Tevene architecture, again beautiful.

On the topic of Tevinter, Krem came in, dressed in his full plate armour. He looked so good in it, even if hugging him while he wore it tended to make her tender. 

“Hey babe, how you doing?” He asked, slipping behind her and putting his gauntlet clad hands on her shoulders. 

Babe? She didn’t think she liked that. Amata was much nicer. She’d let him know if he did it again.

“I’m good, what are you up to today?”

“Not much, baby girl.”

Oh no, that was worse. He leant in and kissed her cheek, and his mustache tickled her skin. Krem didn’t have a mustache.

She turned around and her favourite mustachioed mage was there. “Oh, very funny, Dorian.”

“You knew it was me.” Dorian’s voice had none of the elegant schmooze it usually had; it was cold, something Dorian rarely was. “You knew all along, that’s your fucking deal isn’t it?”

Her book fell to the floor, exploding in a flurry of pages.

“Oh look, Boss, she’s made another mess.”

Bull and Mahanon were in her doorway, in full gear, their weapons drawn and ready. Bull’s double-headed axe was easily taller than her; he was swinging it back and forth like a deadly pendulum. The Inquisitor’s daggers dripped with bright green poisons, which stained the carpet under him. Krem’s hands tightened on her shoulder, metal fingers digging in hard.

“What do you think, Hissrad? Think the Qun could use her?” Gatt asked, spinning his blades, spraying poison everywhere. Gatt’s throat seemed to be slit from ear to ear.

“They could stitch her up from the inside out.” Krem said behind her, pushing her towards Gatt. “Didn’t see that coming, did you?”

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” She didn’t know what she was apologizing for, but she couldn’t stop the words falling out of her mouth, like stones falling into a well, splashing down into the thick molasses of… Cassandra?

“You knew all along. You could have saved all of them!” The Seeker shouted, her hands wrapping around Elisabeth’s neck. Cassandra’s eyes were blood red, and her breath smelled like death, like decomposition, like burning bodies littering the ground at the temple, scattered like the bodies around the Kirkwall chantries, like the children in all the alienages she’d been too late to save. The sound of soldiers practicing outside became more hurried, more violent, closer and filled with screams.

Cassandra’s hands tightened, cutting off the air to her lungs, as behind her, Gatt begged Krem to give Elisabeth over to the Qun so they could pick her apart, peeling back skin and muscle, to see what her bones were made of…

“You knew…” Cassandra moaned, blood pouring from her mouth.

\--

Elisabeth fell out of her bed, crashing onto the floor in a tangle of sheets, sweat and serious ankle agony.

“I’m real.” she whispered, her throat still feeling raw and tight from the dream. Her fingers went to her arm and she pinched herself hard, trying to wake up properly. She was trying to wake up somewhere where the dreams’ accusations weren’t true.

She knew it wouldn’t work, but at least her breath slowed as she registered the pain. She finally let go of the skin of her forearm, the logical side of her mind telling her she’d have to wear long sleeves tomorrow.

Krem wasn’t in the bed, and it took her a few moments to remember why. He had decided to let her sleep in, since he was on duty to help train the recruits and needed to be up before dawn. He’d retreated to the Charger’s barracks to sleep, after helping her get to the infirmary and obtain crutches.

The woman in the infirmary had been confused as to why she would need them for a few weeks. With most serious injuries fixed by a liberal application of magic healing, only amputees needed crutches - and they weren’t bringing them back any time soon.

She would have liked to pretend that having Krem’s warm body next to hers would have warded off the nightmares, but it didn’t. Having him around did help her go back to sleep faster though. She wouldn’t be able to sleep any time soon, not with the Seeker’s bleeding eyes flashing up every time she blinked.

Elizabeth grabbed one of her longer wool coats and slipped it on. It was more of a layering piece she would wear in winter than a coat proper; it would go over dresses and under more windproof leather overcoats. In the Frostbacks, only idiots and Dorian didn’t layer their clothes. For tonight, it would work as a dressing gown.

She had no idea what time it was, but she had to get out of her room.

For perhaps the thousandth time, she wished she had a mind for numbers and physics instead of restoration and manifestos. As she hopped along on her crutches in Skyhold’s empty halls, she imagined herself being able to explain time keeping and gravity and planetary movement.

She’d once been laughed out of an astronomer’s observatory for asking how long the day on Thedas was. Apparently it’s as long as the Maker decided it should be, which was super helpful. She’d tried talking about planets and rotation, when her stomach had dropped; she had no more proof that Thedas was round than they did, and she’d not listened well enough to prove otherwise.

Why couldn’t a world with magic and demons be flat?

Elisabeth found that her hobbled wanderings had brought her to a door that led to the battlements. With a mental shrug she pushed the door open, exiting into the bracing cold of the Frostbacks.

She took a deep, brisk breath which nearly hurt her teeth.

She hopped forward till she looked out at the mountains, listening to the wind blow through the peaks. The sound was always the deal breaker, for her. Every once in a while she could look out at a sleepy city, or at the stars and trees in the distance and she could imagine she was still at home, would be going to get a coffee in the morning before heading on the tube to go to work. She could imagine the buildings and skyscrapers nestled between the arches of Orlais, the seemingly never ending lights on a highway.

And then the silence hit.

No air conditioning units, no ambulance sirens; none of the steady drone of cars going somewhere important in the middle of the night. None of the city noises that lulled her to sleep like they had on most nights of her adult life.

Just wind and silence.

“Maker’s breath!”

Elisabeth spun around, waving one of her crutches towards the person behind her. She hit Commander Cullen’s chest with a soft thud.

“Please accept my apologies, Lady St-Laurent, I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here this late.”

“Sorry I hit you.” Elisabeth apologised lamely. She tapped the crutch on the ground nervously. She didn’t want to be mad at him anymore about the bullshit back at Gryphon Wing Keep. If she could play nice with the Seeker, she could at least try with the guilt-ridden recovering addict. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“No... Nightmares.” He rubbed at his face, which looked slightly green in the moonlight.

“Me too.” She paused. “Do Dorian’s wards not work anymore?”

“I… may have forgotten to tell him they’ve expired…”

“Oh, Cullen…”

“I know. What’s keeping you up?” he asked, trying to change the subject.

“Nightmares too. Non-demonic kind, though, so at least I’ve got that going for me.” She was trying to make a joke, but it seemed to go over Cullen’s head. “Just guilt coming back as Cassandra with bleeding eyes trying to kill me while the Inquisitor, Bull and my boyfriend laughed about how the Qun was going to dissect me…”

Cullen’s face twisted in disgust, and Elisabeth snorted.

“Yeah, that’s how I felt waking up.”

Cullen let out half a chuckle, then sobered. “I dreamed about a Harrowing I attended, one of my first ones. I didn’t… The girl was seven and incredibly powerful. She was struck down moments after the ritual began. The templars said they’d seen signs of possession. I didn’t know better… I should have known better…”

“Come here.” She reached out and hugged him tight, pulling his shoulders down as he shook slightly. “We’re both here doing our best, yeah? That’s all the world can ask of us after dealing us such a shitty hand.” With a last squeeze, she let him go. “Come on, you can escort me back to my room. Dorian’s room is next to mine. We’ll make him refresh the wards right now so you can get some sleep. I’m sure you have important shit to do in a few hours.”

“Important shit… Well, yes. Blackwall’s judgement is scheduled for an hour after dawn, then the Inquisitor is leaving for the Emprise, and we have new recruits... “ He rubbed the back of his neck as they walked back towards the keep. “Will you be coming to the sentencing?”

“No. I hope I sleep through it, honestly.”

“But you seemed so adamant that we get him back; did something change?”

“No, I thought it was important that the Inquisitor judge him, not Orlais. Blackwall needs to be judged. He needs it to move on. I just wanted to make sure the person who did it also knew how he’s tried to atone for his sins. If we can’t forgive him, what chance do any of us have of forgiving ourselves?”

They’d arrived at Dorian’s door, and Elisabeth took great joy in knocking twice and then opening the door without waiting for an answer. “Dorian!”

“Kaffas!!” the mage sat up, his sheets pooling around his bare waist, fire in his hands. “What? Are we under attack?”

“No, no.” she laughed, waving at the embarrassed Commander behind her. “Well, Cullen’s dreams are under attack and he didn’t deem it important enough to ask you to restore the wards.”

“Fucking void, Cullen, why didn’t you mention it before the middle of the night?” Dorian said, sleepily pulling on an oversized shirt, fumbling with the cord on his pants that had come undone. He froze. “So what are you doing here, Liz?”

“I had a nightmare too. Mine’s not demon-based though, so you’re of no use to me.” She smiled warmly as Dorian shook his head, slipping on furry slippers.

“We’ll see about that the next time I order coffee beans from Tevinter for you, you wretch.” He stood tall. “Right, Commander, lead the way! We might as well get this over with so I can get back to sleep and pretend it was all just a dream and I don’t have to kill you in the morning!”

Elisabeth slipped into her room, grinning. Even though he was complaining loudly, Dorian hadn’t hesitated to get up in the middle of his very important beauty sleep to help Cullen.

She looked at her empty bed and jumbled blankets. Tomorrow she’d ask Krem to stay over even if he had early practice. Her morning lay in could afford to be interrupted if it was him doing it. The nightmares were always easier to deal with when he was there.

\--

She didn’t manage to sleep through the trial, but she hid in her office. The library was unusually quiet, as most people wanted to see what the Inquisitor would make of Blackwall.

Elisabeth was dying to know, obviously. She just didn’t want to influence Mahanon’s decision, didn’t want to take away from his experience as Inquisitor. If it was up to her… She stopped the thought before it finished. It wasn’t up to her, and that was that. She made herself sit still as people started reappearing in the library, most of them whispering to each other.

She hadn’t written anything in twenty minutes when Solas came into her office and shut the door quietly behind him.

“What was the sentence?”

“He forgave him.” Solas said quietly, confusion blurring his eyes. “He is free to live his life as whoever he pleases. Blackwall has decided to remain with the Inquisition.”

“Not what you would have done?” she asked.

His silence answered her.

“When I was experiencing the story, I usually forgave him. Sometimes I would give him to the Wardens. Once I made him a slave to the Inquisitor, forced to pretend to be a Warden.” She paused, her fingers pressing on the bruise on her forearm. “Whatever I chose, he remained and fought for the Inquisition. Maybe that’s because it was a story; maybe it’s because he’s trying to redeem himself.”

Elisabeth could almost hear Solas’ thoughts spinning like a tornado. Was he thinking of that elf he’d probably killed recently, the one who was supposed to be his friend? She couldn’t remember the elf’s name. It probably wouldn’t help to bring it up.

His body was curved forward, betraying his mental anguish. In that moment, he wasn’t a demi-god, hiding amongst sheep; he was a critically lonely man, dangerously lonely. His wandering apostate disguise was all too painfully true.

She got up, hopped a step forward and wrapped her arms around him. He wasn’t thin, but he was all sharp shoulders and elbows. “You have to start by forgiving yourself, Solas.” she told him quietly. “Blackwall needed someone else to forgive him first, but you’re not Blackwall.”

He let out a small chuckle, perhaps the first breath he took since she touched him.

“Thank goodness for that,” he laughed.

“One thing though.” Elisabeth took his hand in hers. “I consider you my friend. You’ve saved my life twice now, and whatever you have done in the past, know that I forgave you before I ever met you. But if anything you do with the veil hurts Camille, that I will never forgive you for.”

“I know.” Non-committal, but not unhelpful. He pulled his hand away. “I understand, my friend. Thank you for listening.”

He left her office quietly, shutting the door behind her.

Elisabeth allowed herself a small moment of panic. She had just threatened an immortal mage god and lived. He had called her his friend after she did it. She didn’t want to hope things would be okay, but there was still a bright sliver of optimism seeping in.

“That made him lighter,” Cole said behind her, making her jump. The spirit-boy reached out and caught her elbow before she fell onto her bad ankle. 

“That’s good, but where have you been?” She asked. She’d barely seen him since that day in the war room. She’d been gone Val Royeaux, of course, but she’d expected to have him hanging around once she’d returned. 

Cole shrugged, which Elisabeth thought was very human of him. “Been thinking. You’ve been quieter when Krem is around. He doesn’t pull as hard as I do on the spinning balls of yarn-thoughts.”

There was an odd expression on his face, an unusual twist of his lips and a hard edge in his soft eyes. She lifted up the edge of his hat in order to see him properly. “Are you jealous, Cole?” She asked gently. 

“I don’t know.” His answer was a whispered breath. “I’m… afraid of losing you. You’re the only one who knows how to stop  _ them _ binding me like the others.”

Her eyes widened, as she searched her memory for what the choices were, which solution was better for Cole. 

“I don’t mind which. You choose when we get to Redcliffe.”

“No, that’s not how it works. We need to ask Mahanon…”

“But I trust you more.”

Well, shit.

“That’s what Varric would say, yes.”

Elisabeth rolled her eyes, grabbed her crutches and hobbled off, hoping to catch the Inquisitor before he left. 

—

The Inquisitor was heading out to the Emprise du Lion soon after lunch. He was bringing Blackwall, Dorian and Sera. The rogue was still making moon eyes at Herah, who was going to be leading them back to Sarnia. 

They were bringing more supplies than usual in anticipation of the hardship the citizens of the town were going through. More would come with the troops in the following week, but Mahanon wanted to get there as quickly as possible which meant moving with a small group.

Elisabeth approached nervously, wondering how she was going to convince Mahanon to not only let her leave Skyhold, but also bring everyone she needed to bring along with her.

“Lady Liz!” Herah called, spotting her. She picked her up into a hug that made Elisabeth’s back crack. Her crutches fell to the floor with a clatter. “You are so dainty, little lady. I hope to see you again soon. My brother will expect a letter!” 

Elisabeth was put down after agreeing to write to Karaas. She hugged Dorian (who had picked up her crutches for her) and Blackwall, and leant in to Sera conspirationslly.

“Woof, right?” She told the elf, who gasped, gufffawed then punched Elisabeth hard in the shoulder as she grinned.

She turned to Mahanon, who looked like he was waiting for his hug too. 

“Inquisitor…”

“Shit, if you’re not hugging right away you’re going to ask me something weird, aren’t you?” He moaned, crossing his arms. 

Elisabeth glared at him, mostly because he was right. “I’d like permission to travel to Redcliffe with Cole, Solas and Varric.”

“Is this the trip to the Hinterlands you had mentioned you were… planning?” He asked carefully. Everyone had agreed that no one else needed to know exactly how odd Elisabeth was. 

“Not quite. Cole is afraid someone will bind him, like the Wardens bound the demons at Adamant. There is someone in Redcliffe who can help… in a way. Both Solas and Varric have taken on mentoring roles for Cole, and their presence would help him make the choice he eventually needs to make.” Elisabeth knew she sounded vague and somewhat pushy, but she wasn’t sure how else to phrase it.

“Creators, Elisabeth, I don’t know… Every time you leave you get hurt…”

Herah’s grey-toned hand landed gently on Mahanon’s shoulder. “Our Lady Liz is fragile, but not stupid. She knows the risks better than we do sometimes.” She was being quiet, but steady.

Herah didn’t know exactly why this strange little human had become so important for her and for the mercenary troop, but she’d never steered them wrong, never cheated them. She had always strived to do right for a group of “ox-men” whose home country no longer wanted them.

Mahanon pinched his lips together for a few moments. “Commander!” he eventually called out. Cullen, who had been overseeing the soldiers nearby, came over. 

“Yes Inquisitor?”

“Lady Elisabeth will be heading to Redcliffe shortly, with Cole, Solas and Varric.”

“Is that so?”

“Yes, apparently.” He turned to Elisabeth. “Wait until your ankle is better, and take Bull with you too. He’s a good meat shield that might counteract any trouble you attract.”

“Thank you so much, Mahanon.”

“Do I get a hug now?” He said, with mock indignation.

“Absolutely.”

—


	22. We're Off To See The Templar!

The first time Elisabeth met Cole, she’d been freezing cold, holding a small shivering child in her arms and walking through snow. The plan had always been to get out of Haven before the mind-reading spirit and the lyrium dragon showed up. Considering the previous version of the plan had been to avoid Haven altogether, she wasn’t completely surprised the plan had gone to shit.

She had layered most of the practical clothes she owned, and her pack had extra food in it. Not too much extra; she didn’t want to attract attention. She’d gone for dense, calorie rich foods; oat bars, dried jerky, the terrible thing they called travel bread that was more of a dried out naan cracker than anything else. She had been handing some of it out when the half-naked child had come to her. The child was named Holly, or Dolly, or something like that. She was asleep inside Elisabeth’s coat, though she might have fainted away from the stress; no way to tell. Still, as long as she was shivering she was still alive.

“She’s not dreaming but not dead.” a voice had said, next to her. She’d been almost frozen enough not to jump. She’d had the feeling that someone was looking at her for a bit now, but she’d thought that was how everyone felt when you were running away from a not-archdemon.

“No, I was looking right at you but it didn’t help.”

Cole’s clothes and hands were covered in sticky blood. He held one of the hands up to her face, watching her carefully.

“Oh, you do breathe!” He’d exclaimed. “I thought maybe you were like me, but I think you’re something else.” He poked around her cheek with his broken-nail tipped finger. “Ha.” He said, though he wasn’t laughing. “I thought I might go right through.”

She hadn’t had time to react before her attention was grabbed by someone calling for a stop for the evening. When she turned back, Cole had disappeared.

There was no snow in the Hinterlands, thank goodness.

Cole was literally poking at her face again, reliving her rememberings, as they sat around a fire. His fingernails weren’t so sharp this time. 

“Lace trims then for me when she’s in Skyhold.” He explained.

The others looked up from what they were doing as he spoke. Varric was roasting some of the meat they’d cut off the bear they’d killed earlier. Solas was fussing over Bull’s shoulder, which had gotten mauled badly by the bear, before it had been put down - by Bull’s fist. 

Elisabeth smiled as Bull tried to bat away Solas’ healing magic. “You didn’t have to take the Inquisitor‘s _meat-shield_ instructions so literally, Bull.”

“This is nothing! Just another excuse for a good scar!”

“It’ll prove to Krem you did what you promised.” Cole said, “I promised too, does that mean I need to stand in front of a bear?”

“No, Kid, Tiny’s the only one who has to prove it like that. We’ll keep our promises by bringing her back unharmed, alright?”

“What promise?”

Varric grinned wickedly. “Seems Loverboy didn’t trust us to keep you in one piece! Made us all swear on our mother’s graves that we’d keep safe.”

“I don’t have a mother.” Cole and Bull said at the same time, though with different inflections.

Elisabeth shook off that oddity and looked back at Varric. “He did not! That’s...”

“Endearing?” Solas asked, with one eyebrow askew. “Not many would go so far as to threaten their own commander, a strange spirit, a powerful mage and the biggest gossip in Skyhold in the name of their paramour.”

She couldn’t even pretend she wasn’t pleased, when he put it like that. She just hoped her blush was covered up by the fire’s glow.

“No, we all know you love him too.”

“Thanks Cole.”

“So, Bookworm!” Varric came and sat down next to Elisabeth on the log Bull had pulled over. “Are you finally going to explain why we’re all going to Redcliffe? Beyond saying the Kid needs it?”

“I guess I should. Unless you want to, Cole?”

“No.”

“Alright then.” Elisabeth took a few breaths, trying to put the information in the correct order. She remembered writing all of it down once, before paranoia got the better of her. Considering what had happened since the Western Approach, she obviously should have kept those notes.

“Cole is changing.” She declared, hoping she sounded confident enough. “He’s not a spirit, not human, but something in between. He’s also afraid that someone could bind him like the mages bound the spirits at Adamant.”

“I wanted to ask Solas to do it, but it would hurt his feelings.”

If the twist to the mage’s face was anything to go by, the thought clearly turned his stomach. “I would never bind another into slavery.” He said with a slight shiver in his voice. 

“Of course not. That’s not what we’re asking. Right now Cole is vulnerable. If he was human, he couldn’t be bound; if he was all spirit, there’s a Rivani amulet that can protect him.”

“Finding such an amulet will take time.” Solas said, worry betraying his tone.

Elisabeth pulled a leather lace from under her tunic; a small silver-toned in the rough shape of a horseshoe hung on the leather, shiny but unassuming. “I started looking for it 5 years ago. Found it at auction in Denerim a few years back and snatched it up. I believe all he needs to do is wear it and have a mage charge it up.”

She handed the amulet to Solas, who handled it with reverence. “This is quite powerful.”

He attempted to hand it back to her, but she shook her head and pulled out another one. “I got two. One is for… for your friend Wisdom.”

She saw him bristle.

“I’ll tell you later. I forgot about it till I dug these out of my trunk this morning.”

She tried not to think of all the things she could be forgetting.

“Who did I forget?” Cole droned. “Who will fall through the cracks because I forgot to get someone killed, because I…”

“That’ll do, Kid.” Varric said, putting his hand on Cole’s arm. “So what’s in Redcliffe?”

She looked into Cole’s watery eyes; he nodded at her.

“It’s the man who killed the original Cole.”

“He forgot him, left him to die, all alone in the spire, cold and hungry… so hungry… I tried to help, but it was too late, too hard…” he turned away. “I do need a hug, please.”

Varric had already wrapped his stout arms around him when Elisabeth reached him. They sandwiched him between them, his lanky arms not quite knowing how to respond.

“Sometimes it’s too hard, too late for me too, cinnamon bun.” She tried not to think about Maxwell or about the Cadash dwarves. She was failing miserably.

Nights in the Hinterlands weren’t particularly cold, but she felt herself shiver. As if by magic, but probably due to careful consideration, The Iron Bull dropped a wool blanket on their shoulders, which Elisabeth spread to cover Cole as well.

“Why don’t you tell the Kid a story?” He said with a soft rumble.

“Yeah, Bookworm, tell us a bedtime story.”

She sat thinking for a few minutes, her hands rubbing up and down Cole’s arms in a thoughtlessly comforting way. “I’ll tell you a short story, then, since it’s nearly bedtime.”

Varric sat down, pulled Bianca off his back, a rag from his pocket, and began to polish bits and bobs on the crossbow. Bull started a slow patrol around the camp. Solas thumbed the amulet, rubbing the polished metal distractedly.

“This is the story of two boys: one was a prince and lived in a large castle, and the other was a poltergeist, who haunted the streets in the city outside the castle. Both boys were the same age, and had the same blond hair, pale eyes and long limbs.”

“Like me, but just a story.” Cole said quietly. She thought she heard a smile in his voice.

“And what does that mean?” She asked gently.

“It means you don’t expect me to get you a dress.” He said. 

She shook her head but agreed. “Sort of, yes. So by some chance, both these boys didn’t just resemble each other, they were actually identical! One day, as the prince was being escorted through the city by his guards, he spotted the poltergeist ducking down an alley. Later that evening, he escaped the castle and went looking for the ghost.

“The prince found him haunting near the fishmonger’s, where he was listening to the fish complain. You look just like me!, the prince said. And you look like me! What have you been up to today? The poltergeist asked. The usual things: had breakfast at noon, had lessons with my tutor, then yet another lavish dinner party with some of my father’s sycophants. Wow, said the ghost, all I’ve done today is play with the cobbler’s son, sneak around the bank vaults and fly around with some pigeons. That sounds amazing, said the prince, I wish we could trade places, just for a day.

“We could! Said the ghost.”

“They could?” asked Varric.

“It’s just a story, Varric.” Cole said, his voice taking on a fatherly tone. “Anything can happen in a story.”

“Especially one of Lady Elisabeth’s.” Solas added with a smile.

“Hush. So the boy and the ghost shook hands and switched places! The prince revelled in the power to slip by unnoticed through walls and crowds, and the poltergeist felt the softness of the prince’s clothes and the warmth in his belly of the lovely fatty foods at breakfast.”

“I do like eating those little tiny cakes you love.” Cole said, staring at his stomach. “They taste like good memories and your mother.”

Elisabeth’s breath caught in her throat, but she pushed forward. “Ah, but things are never quite as easy as they seem. By the time the boys met up the next day, neither was happy. The poltergeist’s stomach hurt from all the rich foods, he was tired of being talked down to by everyone, and he missed being able to cuddle the nugs behind the bakery. The prince, on the other hand, was experiencing hunger for the first time, was feeling the weight of all of his subjects’ sadness and pain, and missed his soft bed and warm chambers. Thank you for trading places with me, the prince said slowly, but I’d like to change back now. Oh good! answered the ghost. I’m ready to go back too. So they traded places once again, happy to have seen how the other lived, but happier to be back in the lives they knew.”

“So who was happier?” Cole asked.

“Both,” Elisabeth said.

“No one’s life is perfect, Kid,” Varric said. “Especially none of ours.”

“But it’s not fair! Apart from Elisabeth, you all let someone else decide who you were!” Cole shouted, getting up from under the blanket. He wiped at his face, his fingers coming back wet. He frowned at the tears on his fingers, before turning that frown to the others. “The Iron Bull, you let the Inquisitor decide to save the Chargers! Varric let Bianca decide if he was happy or not! And Solas, you…”

“Please don’t, Cole.” Solas interrupted. They stared at each other, strong words and feelings obviously passing between the two.

Elisabeth looked away. She supposed the rest of the Elven pentagon had made the Dread Wolf who he was, and then the Dalish had decided it again.

“I can be a real person like the three of you if I let someone else choose!” he turned to Elisabeth. “Or I could be a spirit, be more like you. I could be able to help without worrying about dying, just like you do...”

Bull came in and threw an arm around Cole’s shoulders, dwarfing him. “Come on, let’s find a stream to wash those tears off.” His tone was light, but there was tension in his shoulders.

“But how will adding more water help, The Iron Bull?”

“I’ll show you, Kid, let’s go.”

The two walked away, leaving Elisabeth, Varric and Solas awkwardly silent around the fire.

“It’s all going strange...” Elisabeth whispered to herself after a few minutes.

“How so?” Solas asked.

“You are supposed to be…” She caught herself, hearing herself tell Cole that it was just a story. This was no longer a story. “In the version I knew, Varric would be a champion for Cole becoming more human.”

Varric nodded gently. “He is eating more than before. His fingernails are growing, and I think Sera trimmed his bangs last week.”

“I am concerned that to become more human would mean to lose what makes him a spirit…” Solas said calmly, without conviction. 

“And as I remember it, you Solas were right angry at just the thought of him being more human. You said it would corrupt the spirit of Compassion.”

“I do have those fears still, but is Cole truly still a spirit? Can a spirit cry?”

“Does a spirit stab bastards with terrifying efficiency?” Varric asked sarcastically.

Solas tented his fingers in front of his face, a thoughtful look in his eyes. “Even within the Fade, spirits can change. Wisps grow, memories grow dim, spirits change their shape. It happens more slowly, of course, but only a fool would expect things to remain the same forever.”

Bull’s stomping feet , loud on purpose, announced that he and Cole were coming back. Cole’s face was cleaner than usual, and his wet hair has been swept from his eyes. 

“Solas, The Iron Bull thinks I should try sleeping tonight. Do you think I could?”

“You may be able to, Cole, if you can manage to ignore our dwarven friend’s snoring.”

“That is uncalled for, elf!” Varric laughed.

They settled into their tents. Since Bull was taking the first watch, he offered Cole his bedroll, just to see how he liked it. Elisabeth listened to Cole ask questions about what he should do with his hands while he slept, but she drifted off before Solas had found an answer that appeased the spirit boy. 

—

Redcliffe was a mostly typical Ferelden village: a few thousand people scattered over a large area, a single street that held nearly all of the shops and services, and enough xenophobia to frighten away most visitors.

To be fair, the last time they let anyone in, most people were displaced by rebel mages and a Tevinter Magister had made demons appear at both the town’s entrance and in the Chantry. Elisabeth kinda got it; still, she didn’t appreciate the looks they were getting. There was one particular group that had leered quite aggressively before Bull had growled at them.

Elisabeth tried to ignore it all and concentrated on looking through the people gathered. There were so many more people than what she had seen initially; she had no doubt it would be infinitely harder to find the man Cole needed to…

“You killed me!” Cole shouted, running forward.

“Shit!” Varric took off, and the others followed as Cole popped in and out of reality as he ran ahead. They pushed past shoppers and Chantry folk, poor people who had no idea the emotional dilemma a poor spirit-boy was going through. They eventually found Cole standing at the top of a small path. At the end, looking both confused and afraid, stood a man with nowhere to go.

“Are you sure it’s him, Cole?” Solas asked.

“Yes.” Both Cole and Elisabeth answered at the same time.

“He killed me. I need to kill him!” His daggers appeared in his hands, though wether through magic or skill was impossible to tell. 

Spirit put his hand against Cole’s chest. “A spirit forgives, Cole.”

Varric stood in front of the boy. “How about we go chat with him instead.” The dwarf winked at Solas, trying to placate him. 

“We could just let him go.” The Iron Bull said in a voice that was encouraging but with an edge. “You don’t need him.”

“Liz comes with me.” Cole pushed off Solas and past Varric. His daggers twirled in his fingers, as he walked down the hill.

Elisabeth ran to catch up and pass him, finally putting her back to him yo stop him a few feet from the terrified focus of Cole’s anger.

“You killed me!” The boy roared, his voice cracking with pain.

“I don’t even know you!” The man cried, backing away. The cliff was only footsteps away.

“You don’t remember him?” Elisabeth shouted, pushing herself off Cole. “You don’t remember the boy you threw into a cell in the Spire? You didn’t remember him then either, did you? You let him starve to death!”

The man’s eyes flew up to Cole’s face, and something in his face shifted. “Oh Maker, it’s you...”

“Maker?” Elisabeth asked. “You don’t deserve the Maker!” She rushed forward, throwing a punch like Michel has showed her and like Krem had been making her practice. She hit him under the jaw, and the taller man fell forward, clutching his face but trying to avoid falling down the cliff side.

Elisabeth was pulling out her throwing knives when a hand wrapped on her arm.

“What?” She barked. Cole was holding her arm back, his eyes unfocused.

“I hear your anger. I hear the names other people have told you, the names of the other children who suffered like the other Cole did.” She tried to break free, but Cole’s grip was too strong. “I also know what you brought for him.”

He reached into her pack and pulled out a small blue book, the same one she’d had Dorian give to Cullen. “You loved us before you met us. You had forgiven him before you even met him.”

“I was wrong.”

“No, you’re not.” Cole handed the book to the man.”You deserved her hit. You deserve to be shot with Bianca and she misses.” The book trembled in the Templar’s hands. “Stop the lyrium. Make yourself remember. I forgive you, but I won’t let you forget. Now go.”

Cole wrapped his arms around Elisabeth, holding her back as the man scrambled away, first on four legs then on two, never dropping the small blue book.

“I messed it all up, Cole...” Elisabeth murmured, turning to face the boy.

“So what’s going on?” Varric asked as he jogged down the path. “Is he human?”

“Will he be more of a spirit now?” Solas asked.

Cole took Elisabeth‘s face in his hands and stared deep into her eyes. She thought he was searching for something, poking at the edges of her memories.

“What did Genova say, when you wanted to stop helping?”

“What?”

“When you wanted to pinch yourself awake till you died, what did Genova day would help?”

Elisabeth felt the despair of that day try to hit her again, but found her voice. “Keeping busy, friends, and chocolate.” She said quietly, with a sad smile. “What will you choose, Cole?”

“Neither. If I was a spirit, I’d have nothing but time, and not enough things to keep busy. If I was real, I’d have too much chocolate. I’m me. I’m in the middle, and I have friends who will protect me or kill me if I fall. I don’t need to choose. I choose me.”

Feeling rocked by happy confusion, Elisabeth managed to calm her tears. “Will you be alright?” she asked quietly.

“Probably not right away.” Cole answered. “You’ll help. Friends help. I have friends.”

“Hey Cole!” Bull said brightly. “How about we go help one of the vendors in the marketplace by buying up some of his sweets? Let’s go see if he has any chocolate.”

“Alright The Iron Bull. Can we also get a few scarves? My neck feels like the blacksmith’s daughter, and she’s cold.”

“Sure Kid, sure.” Varric and Bull led Cole away as Solas stood by Elisabeth.

“I felt his heart beat.” Solas said softly.

“What?”

“When I tried to hold him back; I felt his heart beat in his chest for the first time.” He shook his head. “We need to speak. I need to know what you know about Wisdom.”

Elisabeth took a deep breath. “Yeah, alright. I’m warning you, it’s a hot mess and I don’t have a solution.”

“A hot mess?”

She accidentally snorted half a laugh. “A messy situation. We should go to the tavern. You’re going to want to sit down for this, and I’m going to need something alcoholic.”

“That seems fair. I’m sure Cole will bring you back some chocolate as well.”

“He better!”

\--


	23. New Clothes and Experimentation

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> trigger warning: vomiting

“Show me again.”

Elisabeth rolled her eyes and dug through the paperwork on her desk, looking through the mounds of paper for the diagram. She had to admit, things were getting a bit chaotic. Between answering questions for Leliana two or three times a day, forging letters in order to sow dissent in the ranks of the Freemen of the Dales in the Emerald Graves and the fixing jobs she was doing for the interesting books the Inquisition was obtaining, she was swamped. Still, she appreciated that Krem had taken time out of his day in order to visit her, even if it was to ask about the bloody hooks again.

“Aha!” She said victoriously, pulling out a paper with the thin, swirly metal hooks drawn onto them. “Here, see?”

“I still don’t really get it. Can you show me the real ones again?” He asked.

Elisabeth rolled her eyes, and reached back under her loose tunic top. It was a soft woolen material that had more stretch than linen. Krem had embroidered geometric designs onto the hem; she loved to run her fingers along the tidy stitches when she was thinking. She unclipped the three hooks that held in her breastband and pulled it loose.

She was quite proud of it, so it was too bad that showing off your underwear was quite scandalous in Thedas. She’d suffered through traditional wrapped breast bands for three years before losing her shit and getting some professionally made. She had worked with a talented designer from Val Royeaux, who had been willing to split the profits with her if the designs took off. The first thing they’d discussed were underwires, which hadn’t been popular in Val Royeaux but had definitely taken off in Orzammar; apparently dwarven women were bustier than human ones. Bra straps had definitely been a miss, although she didn’t understand how the entire population of Thedas wasn’t constantly tugging at their falling under things. Elisabeth had constantly readjusted herself before finally landing on a design that worked for her. She’d finally settled on a thin cotton and wool blend that had just a bit of stretch, with clever seams that gave the garment more shape than just a tube top. The _pièce de resistance_ was the hooks that she had spent an entire week perfecting with a blacksmith who specialized in fine machining parts.

It’s not like she’d ever actually paid attention to the hooks on her bras before landing in Thedas and missing them terribly. Redesigning them hadn’t been too hard, but figuring out what type of metal could be forged thin enough while still being sturdy had been a trial and a half.

Eventually they had discovered, after going through all the cheaper, more common materials first, that everite, with it’s long thin structures, held up best to being stretched and twisted, and became very hard when cooled quickly.

Elisabeth handed her bra to Krem. “Here, see? They can be stitched anywhere along the band to be tight right where you want them. They’re more expensive than buttons or laces, but so, so worth it.”

Krem took half a look at the fabric strip in his hand and threw it over his shoulder dramatically.

“What are you…?” She yelped as Krem lifted her under her arms, sitting her up on her desk. He fell into her chair with a wide grin, settling himself between her thighs.

“You just wanted to trick me out of my underthings, you rake.”

“Guilty as charged. Do you mind?”

“Do I mind if you ravish me in the middle of Skyhold’s library? As long as you lock the door and don’t sweep something breakable off my desk, I absolutely don’t.”

Krem stood up and caught her mouth in a smoldering kiss. “You have until I come back from locking the door to move anything you don’t want scattered on the floor, then.” He breathed against her ear.

He pulled away slowly, then walked backwards towards the door, keeping his burning gaze on her as she scrambled to move inkwells and spy notes. Too quickly and not quickly enough, Krem was back and anchoring her hips with his strong hands.

“I missed you when you went to the Hinterlands.” He said as he nuzzled his way up her side.

“I missed, oh!...” She paused as he nipped at her waist through her shirt. “Fuck I missed you too…”

She’d never been so glad her office had a door.

—

Later that evening, snuggled in bed with Krem, she looked around her room and sighed happily. She’d asked Cullen for an armor rack, and he’d found her one that was compact but big enough to hold most of Krem’s kit when he spent the night, which was nearly every night. The masks they had worn at the Winter Palace were sitting on top of the cupboard, out of the way but still on display. Solas had been right about them having value to her. Her bookshelves were full of books and collectibles, different bits she’d picked up, and quite a few Krem and the Chargers had found for her: Dalish had brought her a twisted halla horn, and Rocky had gifted her a piece of the wall that he had absolutely not blown up after she had quizzed him for a few hours on the shaperate and its contents.

“Cole asked me something strange today.” Krem said thoughtfully.

Elisabeth huffed a small laugh, “Of course he did.”

“He asked if I could make his clothes sing again.” Krem shook his head. “He then stripped off his shirt and gave it to me. That boy is too thin by half. Anyway, we found one of Stitches’ old shirts that sort of fit him so he didn’t have to go around half naked shocking the noble sorts.”

“What was wrong with his shirt?”

“What wasn’t wrong with his shirt?” Krem waived his free hand in an exasperated way. “I think it was being held up by magic alone. A sleeve fell off when he handed it to me. Some parts were so filthy they were stiff. It didn’t smell till he walked away, but when he did it made Skinner sick up in her mouth - and she’s seen some _gravis_ shit before!”

“That’s disgusting. I’ve hugged him, Krem, please stop.”

“I’m having Dagna help with some of the leather working. I’ll make him some nice linen shirts he can wear underneath it. Varric is apparently teaching him to wash this week.”

“That is very brave of Varric.”

“Liz… Liz imagine his pants.”

“Andraste’s hangnails, Krem, that’s just disgusting, stop!” She batted at his arm playfully, and he pulled her into a tighter hug. 

“We’ll get him sorted, even if it takes the whole keep.” He kissed her brow. “I’m up early tomorrow. I’ll try not to wake you when I go.”

“I don’t mind too much, despite what I may say when I am half asleep.” She smiled sleepily. “Please don’t take anything I say before sunrise too literally.”

“I never do; it’s often not coherent.”

With a final poke into his well muscled side, she curled up on his shoulder and fell asleep.

—

He’d woken her up a bit when he left, but it was with the soothing sounds of leathers being pulled on and armor being clipped together.

The sound she was hearing now was no more threatening, but wholly unexpected. Someone was humming a lovely little tune in a distinctly high pitched range. Elisabeth opened half an eye, trying to stay as still as possible to appear still asleep.

She saw red hair piled messily into a loose bun and a tool belt slung onto generous hips that swung in time with the humming.

“Dagna?” Elisabeth croaked.

“Oh hi, you’re finally awake! Krem said you slept in late, but I didn’t expect it to be this late!” the arcanist said brightly.

“How’d you get in?”

“Krem let me in when he left for training!”

“That must have been hours ago…”

“It was!”

Elisabeth stared at the dwarf. She blinked slowly, trying to get her eyes to focus properly.

“What are you doing here so early?”

“It’s really not that early!” Dagna said, giving herself a swing and sitting on the bed. “I wanted to ask your advice about outfitting Cole, but then I also wondered if you would be willing to test out a few things for me!”

Elisabeth swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know anything about armor… Test what things?”

Dagna tapped her fingers together in a move that was very super-villain to Elisabeth.

“Well, the Inquisitor and Solas came to see me before they left yesterday to ask me to evaluate your resistance to magic. Apparently you’re incredibly difficult to heal, and the Inquisitor wants me to study it so that we can be better prepared the next time you’re injured.”

“Did… did Mahanon mention why I was resistant?”

Dagna stopped moving. “No, but I have my theories…”

“Please don’t share your theories with anyone.” Elisabeth said slowly. “I can’t…”

“Don’t worry, your strange parentage, illegal blood magic or whatever are safe with me!”

Elisabeth wanted to correct her, but it was better if she didn’t. She stood up and started looking for something to get dressed in.

“Do you have a mage you trust?” Dagna said, quickly waving aside any awkwardness.

“What?” Elisabeth pulled her head out of her cupboard. “Uh, yes? Dorian and Solas? And Dalish, though she’s actually an archer, apparently.” She pulled on a long sweater.

“Perfect, I‘ll go let Dorian know to meet us in the Undercroft!”

“Why?”

“How else are we supposed to throw fireballs at you?”

“Excuse me?!”

“If you agree, of course.”

“ _Tabarnak_...”

—

Before Thedas, Elisabeth’s worst injury had been a fractured arm because of a slip on the ice. Since she’d fallen on that road near Kirkwall somehow, she’d gotten bruised ribs from falling off of a horse, had cut open her hand while learning to handle throwing knives, had been stabbed in the leg by a chevalier, had been bitten by nugs on two separate occasions, and she’d had hard-bound editions of the chant thrown at her head by an irate Mother three times.

Then she’d decided that joining the Inquisition was a good idea.

Since that fateful day she’d nearly had frostbite on most of her toes, had been stabbed in the lung, had her face sliced by a demon, had flipped her ankle getting away from a different demon and badly bruised her hand punching a templar.

There was probably more she was forgetting, but she wasn’t looking forward to add ‘being burned by magical fire’ to the list, no matter how excited Dagna and Dorian were about it.

“Just a little fireball?” the archanist begged.

“No.”

“Lizzie, look how upset the poor dear is… Let me throw one tiny fireball in your direction, just to see.”

“No. How about you just conjure a flame and I’ll put my finger in it first. Start small.” Elisabeth paced back and forth in the room. “Isn’t that how experiments work? Start by getting small, repeatable results?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Dagna asked, with a grin. “Alright, alright. Just a flame then, Altus.”

Elisabeth watched Dorian’s palm alight effortlessly, like his palm had been doused in lighter fluid. She’d often wondered what her life would have been like if she’d had magic; part of her liked to think she could have changed even more, helped even more people. The other, more realistic part of her realised she probably would have been shoved in a circle, and if she hadn’t been made Tranquil for her _radical_ views, then she’d have been killed when the circles fell, again because of her big mouth.

Dorian stood still as she worked up the courage to put her finger into the flame.

She winced in advance and edged the tip of her ring finger into the fire. Her face relaxed as the seconds passed.

“How does it feel?” Dagna asked, a shiver in her voice.

“It feels like nothing.” Elisabeth answered quietly. “Like there isn’t a flame there at all.” She pushed her other fingers into the flame, and the fire seemed to recede from Dorian’s fingers, settling into his palm.

Dorian’s brown furrowed slightly, and she decided to try something. It was her non-dominant hand anyway. She pushed forward and sealed her hand with Dorian’s. The flame went out and Dorian swore softly in Tevene.

“Maker… you’re not just resistant to magic…” Dagna whispered. “You can counteract it outright.”

“That is remarkably unsettling.” Dorian said, as Elisabeth let him go. He shook his hand and lit it up again, making sure everything still worked. “The refractory period is almost instantaneous, unlike a templar’s magic.”

“Bull will enjoy that I’m sure.” Elisabeth said quietly with a grin.

Dagna cackled as Dorian sputtered, trying to recover some form of appearance of control. Elisabeth was glad they weren’t in the Undercroft’s main room, where their loud laughs would probably not be well received by the team of blacksmiths and runeworkers who were already half way through their day. The room they were in was little more than a storage depot for raw metals and ores, but it was large and private enough to serve their purpose.

The giggles eventually died down, and Dagna wiped her tears eyes. “Have you done anything like that before?” She asked Elisabeth.

“I once popped a silence spell Solas had cast...” she said, remembering the sleepy apostate in her tent. “He said he’d had trouble casting it if any part of the spell touched me. Does that count?”

Dorian hummed. “Let me try a barrier over you. I’ll make it visible so we can see how it reacts.” He waved a hand, then frowned. “How odd…” he whispered. He did the move again, then again. A purple shimmer appeared briefly over Elisabeth, but blinked out instantly. “Usually barriers wrap tight around a person - why barrier air if you don’t have to, yes?”

“Of course.” Dagna said.

Elisabeth shrugged. “Sure?”

“But any contact with you is causing the spell to pop like a soapy bubble in a fancy bath. Let me try further away again.”

This time, the dome around Elisabeth was nearly a foot away from her body.

“Elisabeth, can you attempt to interfere with it?”

With just one finger, Elisabeth poked at the bubble and it popped. Dorian shuddered a little bit, but Dagna looked thrilled.

“Fascinating!” She squeezed. “I wonder…. I’ll be right back!” She scurried out to the main Undercroft rooms, mumbling to herself.

Elisabeth looked around at the different metals; bloodstone was particularly pretty illuminated by the fire of the wall sconces. She turned around again to find Dorian staring at her, deep in thought.

“What is it?” She asked. “Is there something on my face?” She tried for levity, but the silly comment didn’t change his stern expression. “What?”

“Promise me you will never go to Tevinter, Elisabeth.” He finally said.

She hadn’t been expecting that. “Not that I was planning a trip, but why?”

“Many magisters keep a barrier or a warning spell on their person at all times. Getting too close to one of them would expose you instantly.” He explained. “They’d want to take you apart, see how you worked. Does your hand need to be attached to your arm to cancel spells? Does your blood have anti-magic properties? Can your abilities be passed on to your children?”

Elisabeth turned green. “Shit, Dorian. Shit.”

“We can trust that Dagna won’t be cutting off pieces of you to experiment on, but I can’t say the same for some of my countrymen.” He said sadly. He watched her chin wobble, and pulled her in for a hug.

She’d imagined all the terrible things Thedas could do to her, but Dorian had a better imagination than she did, apparently. The idea that she could be bred like a horse or a mabari was something she’d never considered, and the thought made her feel sick to her stomach. She tried to find solace in Dorian’s arms, but she could feel herself shaking.

Dagna came in, holding a foot long metal box. “I want to see what she makes of this!”

Dorian and Elisabeth pulled away from each other, and she approached Dagna. As soon as the dwarf flipped the lid, the stench hit Elisabeth like a truck. Or a cart. Elisabeth was too busy throwing up on the floor to figure out what she was being hit by.

Inside the box, pulsing softly with a warm red glow, was a shard of red lyrium.

Dagna slammed the lid on the box with a slam, her fingers quickly engaging the lock. “What’s wrong?”

Elisabeth finished emptying her stomach onto the store room floor, then loudly spat and retched a little bit more.

“I am so sorry.” She said, wiping at her mouth with the back of her hand. Dorian passed her a handkerchief he magicked from somewhere on his person, looking disgusted but empathic. She wiped at her eyes and mouth, trying to get the sick off of her face.

“What happened?” Dagna asked. She pushed the box to the edge of the room, near the door.

“It smelled like…” It felt like the scent was still coating the inside of her mouth. “It smelled like a decomposing corpse; you know, that gassy, wet smell of rot and blood?”

Dorian and Dagna nodded. Of course they knew the smell of a decomposing body. This was Thedas. Her first experience with a bloated, breaking down body had been in the Val Royeaux alienage, in the first year in the city. It had been a male elf, of indeterminate age. He had been left to fester between two houses, and no one had moved him as the crows and the nugs had started to pick at his swelling body. No one knew him, and no one wanted the trouble. She’d been paralysed by disgust and wonder, staring at his abandoned body until Michel had gently taken her away.

When she’d gone back, the body had disappeared.

“I’ve never known anyone to claim that red lyrium had a scent…” Dagna said. “I can’t smell anything at all when I work with it. It feels warm, but otherwise…”

Elisabeth stared at the box, considering what she was about to say, “Dorian, can you do that silence bubble that Solas does?”

Dorian scoffed. “You’ll be hard pressed to find anything he can do that I can’t do better.” He snapped his hand out elegantly. “Kaffas.” he mumbled. He cast the spell again, this time a bit wider around the three of them to make sure Elisabeth didn’t interrupt it.

“We’re good?” Elisabeth asked.

Dorian nodded.

“What I am about to say must stay between us for now. It will be common enough knowledge soon, but I don’t know exactly when. I just need you to be safe.”

Dagna’s brow crinkled; Elisabeth could see her trying to work out what was going on. She would probably have to explain her origin to the arcanist sooner rather than later.

“Red lyrium is blighted. That’s why it’s so destructive and virulent. It has the blight.”

Dorian inhaled sharply, his mouth turning down into a frown. Felix’s death still hung heavily on him, and having Alexius shuttered away in an office turned prison cell didn’t help much. She wasn’t sure if he had even visited his old mentor.

“That can’t be right…” Dagna said, one of her feet starting to tap. “Only living things can catch the blight…”

“Correct.”

“Oh by the Stone, this is…” Both her feet were tip-tapping now. “This is huge. Amazing. Devastating. All of Orzammar…”

“Please just keep it to yourself a little bit longer.” Elisabeth begged. “It will come to light, I promise. I just want you to be safe if you insist on keeping pieces of it around.”

They all looked at the box by the door; all of them felt a bit nauseous.

“We need to vacate this room and get it cleaned.” Dorian finally said, with a minute gaze towards the puddle of Elisabeth’s breakfast and bile.

“Oh, I can do it..”

“Nonsense. You need to sit down and recover.”

“That’s fair.” She held her hand out and it hit the spell, which popped out of existence.

Dorian attempted to pretend it didn’t jolt him, and nearly succeeded. “As we’ve always known, you are equal parts fascinating and unsettling.” Dorian said, ”No wonder our resident spirit-boy loves you so.”

“I love her cause she loves everyone, even the people she doesn’t like very much.” Cole said, apparently not noticing how everyone gasped and scattered as he appeared. 

“Hello Cole.” Elisabeth said, recovering first.

“Hello indeed.” Dorian said with a sniff.

“If I had stayed by their side, could I have slowed the ravages more? Would he have fallen so far if I’d been able to catch him? Can I ever forgive myself for abandoning them?”

“Cole, darling, as much I love you airing out my emotional laundry, is there a reason you’ve blessed us with your presence?”

The spirit-boy tilted his head, like he was listening to something far, far away. His head snapped back straight and he looked deep into Elisabeth’s eyes.

“I came to let you know I killed three of the assassins who wanted to kill you. She killed another two just now. There are only five left now.”

“Assassins?”

“Five left?”

“She?”

“She’ll be here soon. Do you want to see the bodies, or should I just Sister Leliana know where to find them?”

Elisabeth swallowed a few times. “Maybe we should both go see Sister Leliana together.” She said slowly.

“Do you want my feet to walk with you?” He asked.

“Yes,” she said after a moment decoding his words. “yes please.”

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> gravis - serious  
> Tabarnak - French Québec swear word, so it's obviously a twisted religious word, what else


	24. Assassins Are No Fun When They Aren't Yours

She had always been a fan of paying professionals to do complicated tasks. Sure, she could reattach a button, but a professional was needed to have a new dress made. Elisabeth felt that hiring assassins fell into that same category. She would squish her own spiders and defend herself against petty thieves, but if she needed to have a Duke or a Lady eliminated, it was better to find someone who could get the job done as seamlessly as possible.

Most of the contracts she’d taken out were for people she had known from the start that needed eliminating; Mistress Poulain, the Duke in Wycome, that blond, blue-eyed dwarf who was going to write Hard in Hightown 3.

The first person she’d had killed who wasn’t a _character_ was a Chantry Mother named Margaux Bourdon who ran the _Orphelinat des Abandonnés_ on the outskirts of Val Forêt. Orphans were shipped there from around Orlais because they weren’t welcome in the other Chantry-run orphanages: the _Orphelinat des Abandonnés_ only took in non-human orphans.

The orphanage had landed on her radar when she’d been talking to an older elven woman in the Val Forêt alienage. The old woman had been cautiously pleased Elisabeth was building a school for her daughter. When Elisabeth had enquired how old the daughter was, the woman admitted she didn’t know; the girl had been adopted in an emergency, to keep her out of the grasp of the woman the alienage called _la Bourdonne_. She pressed for details, and was introduced to a nervous, stuttering young woman named Solange who hid in the baker’s shop. It took a while to get the girl talking, but Elisabeth eventually got a picture of who this waspish woman Chantry Mother was.

Mother Margaux Bourdon was vicious, cruel and greedy beyond measure. Most of the orphans she took in were shipped out again by the time they were seven or eight. They were sold off to work in mines or as indentured servants if they were lucky; those who were packed into carts and shipped north were never seen or heard from again.

She kept a few older girls to take care of the younger kids, but they were often beaten and abused by the guards, and were cast out or sold before they were adults. Solange was one of those girls, who had managed to run when she overheard the mother arranging for her to be included in the next shipment north. Solange was wracked by guilt over leaving her charges; her stuttering became an impossible shivering when she was made to recall her time there in too much detail.

Despite Michel’s insistence that they could hire someone to check out the orphanage, Elisabeth insisted on visiting it herself.

It was worse than she’d imagined.

Mother Bourdon welcomed her into her spotless, lavish home, which was wholly separate from the orphanage. After an excruciating amount of pleasantries, where Elisabeth had insinuated that she’d like a look at the _marchandise_ , she and Michel were taken on a tour of the orphanage by two of the guards. Most of the orphans were elves, who were usually slight, but these children were almost skeletal. Out of the 106 children at the orphanage, two were kossith, twin boys, and half a dozen dwarven children, half of whom had Carta brands.

“Should anything catch your eye while you walk through,” the Chantry Mother had said, “be sure to grab it before it’s gone. I’ll let you have one, on the house.” She’d talked about children like they were things, baubles for sale in bulk.

Elisabeth wanted to jump at the woman’s throat. Instead, she’d nodded coyly. “I’ll take you up on that, if I see anything interesting.”

She had left the orphanage half an hour later with a small elven child. The guards had scoffed at her choice, saying the girl probably wouldn’t last the week.

By the time the girl was awake enough to let them know her name was Sophie, _la Bourdonne_ and her guards were dead.

By the time Sophie could walk unaided, Elisabeth had purchased the orphanage from the Chantry and torn down the old dormitory.

By the time Sophie was able to dress herself, the entire orphanage had been moved closer to Val Royeaux to allow children to become apprentices more easily, and the name had been changed to _La Maison des Retrouvés_. It was one of her most expensive projects, and was worth every gold she’d poured into it.

Clément had asked if she wanted to have one of _la Bourdonne_ ’s finger as proof of the deed; she had refused, turning slightly green. He’d scoffed at her, pulled the finger out of his pocket and had thrown it into the Val Royeaux sewers.

Hopefully a nug had eaten it.

\--

The walk up to Leliana’s roost was long, and gave Elisabeth lots of time to think of the best way to announce to the spymistress that she was causing more issues for the Inquisition.

Cole squeezed her hand. “It’s no trouble. They wanted to kill you, so I killed them first.” He paused, looking up at the ceiling. “Lemon squeezy?”

“Easy peasy, lemon squeezy.” Elisabeth said, distracted. 

“I killed them with my daggers, not with a lemon.”

“What?”

“It would be quite difficult to kill someone with a lemon, I think.”

“Never mind, Cole.” She smiled at the boy. “Thank you for protecting me.”

They finally arrived on the last floor of the rotunda. The commander and the spymistress were deep in hushed conversation, but looked up when they stepped forward.

“Cole, would you be responsible for the bodies outside my office?” The Commander asked, sounding exhausted.

“I wanted someone to find them soon.”

“Well Scout Jim nearly did himself harm backing away from the corpses.” He sighed. “What in the name of Andraste is going on?”

“It’s my fault.” Elisabeth said lamely. “Apparently someone has hired assassins to kill me.” 

Leliana’s eyebrows rose slightly. “Again?”

Elisabeth shrugged. “I guess I’m sorry.” She tried to keep the snark out of her response but failed.

“Well it’s not like we have another blighted desert to hide you away in.” The spymistress said, shaking her head. “We need more information.”

“That’s what I’m here for.” Said a voice above them. A slight elven woman dropped from the roof onto Leliana’s desk, her black feathered cape ballooning and shedding as she landed.

Cullen pulled Elisabeth behind him and drew his sword; Leliana had a dagger in her hand, down by her hip; Cole didn't arm himself, just followed the floating feathers with his eyes, smiling softly.

“Anne-Marie?” Elisabeth cried, trying to get around the Commander’s bulk. “What are you doing here?”

“She was hired to kill you.” Cole said calmly.

Everyone else tensed, even the newly arrived assassin. Her hair was as pale as her brother’s, sweeping across her face as she stared down Sister Leliana, who she had correctly decided was the biggest threat. Her eyes were as sharp as Clement’s and when she was on the attack, Elisabeth could definitely see the family resemblance; unlike Clement, Anne-Marie was able to turn off the crazy. Mostly.

Elisabeth finally wove around Cullen’s arm and hugged the woman on the desk.

“Lady Elisabeth!!”

“It’s alright, Cullen, don’t worry. She’s one of the assassins I keep on retainer.”

Leliana nodded, but Cullen still looked confused. “I pay her and her brother a small monthly fee to make sure I’m one of their preferred clients.”

“That fee also ensures that we don’t kill her if someone hires us to off her.” The assassin said, dropping her hood. The thin elf looked around. “Swanky place you got here, _Madame_ Liz. Too bad Briala sent a dozen assassins after you.”

“A dozen?!” the Commander shouted, obviously angry.

“No general contract on her life?” Leliana asked.

“No. Just twelve well-trained assassins. Minus two, for Clement and me.”

“I killed three!” Cole said proudly.

“Clement’s last bird said he’d taken care of the two who were keeping an eye on Michel. He’ll remain there to make sure they remain safe.”

“Thank you.”

“I killed another two on the way here. Only three have escaped me and your boy.” The elf said, eyeing Cole.

“He is not my boy.” Elisabeth corrected.

“I’m her cinnamon-bun.” the boy explained.

Elisabeth sighed, as everyone else looked confused.

“Right.” Anne-Marie finally said, with a shake of her head. “You should know, one of them is Bourgeois.”

Leliana swore under her breath. Elisabeth tried not to twitch.

Whereas Anne-Marie - and Clement to a lesser degree- was scary but reasonably sensible, Bourgeois was well known to be a madman. Elisabeth has come across his letters a few times during her different activities, and they always were disjointed and odd. Rumors of his violent outbursts would sweep through Val Royeaux, entire households slaughtered, not even the children or servants spared. Reports were that he was a madman who would argue with himself and décapitate his victims without breaking a sweat. 

If psychology had been a thing in Thedas, Elisabeth would bet he’d have been labeled with schizophrenia or some other fancy-named personality disorder.

Anne-Marie stepped forward, her sharp gaze moving around the room, never quite focusing on anyone or anything. “I should sleep in your bed tonight,” she said, “in order to catch one or two of them. Do you have somewhere you can bunk?”

As if to answer, the stomp of boots running up the library steps clattered throughout the tower. With a final smash of boots on wood, Krem appeared, out of breath, into the rookery.

“The Altus… said something… about assassins?” he panted.

“I also said she was fine!” Dorian shouted from below, though he also sounded winded.

“I think the Chargers will let me bunk with them if I ask nicely.”

\--

She had slept in Krem’s bunk in the Chargers’ barracks, practically underneath him for the whole night. The other Chargers had moved the other beds to border Krem’s, surrounding her like a sleepy fort. All of them had gone to sleep in full armor with all their weapons. 

They’d even managed to get out of morning training so as not to force her up. Elisabeth was pretty sure she was being used to get an extra late lay in. She didn’t mind, especially when she heard from Anne-Marie that she had killed the assassin who had been hiding in her cupboard. The assassin had apparently waited till the middle of the night, and stabbed into her comforter. He hadn’t noticed that Anne-Marie had been standing on top of the wardrobe. She’d made out the other assassin’s hiding spot as soon as she’d entered the room, and had made a show of going to bed in her dark brown wig. One silent jump to the top of the cupboard later, and she’d lain in wait. 

Well worth the wait, apparently. 

A few hours after a late tavern breakfast, Elisabeth was in her office, distractedly practicing the signature of a noble Josephine needed to cut down to size. Through the open door, she saw Grim settled on a small stool, reading a massive book. He’d replaced Rocky, and would be replaced by Skinner later. The fact that all the Chargers as well as Bull and Dorian had volunteered to keep an eye on her made her feel all sorts of fuzzy inside. She sighed, looking at the mess of signatures she’d scribbled. Barring one or two, they were all perfect; they would be the crowning jewel in Josephine’s rather forceful persuasion.

“You can’t knock on air.” Cole said quietly, at the door with a fist up. Grim startled for half a second, then relaxed again. 

“It’s quite tricky, yes.” Elisabeth agreed with him with a smile.

“Sister Leliana caught another man who wanted to hurt you. He didn’t get far…” he said dreamily. “It’s hard to get anywhere with two broken legs.”

Elisabeth paused, her mouth slightly open. “Yes, I imagine.” She eventually said.

“I’ll keep looking for the last one.” Cole whispered. “I can feel his hatred, but he’s hard to see.” He popped out of existence, revealing a surprised-looking Dagna who had been standing behind him.

“Good afternoon!” The dwarf said quickly. “May I ask you a super awkward, super private question?”

“Should we shut the door?”

“Oh, Stones yes. Some of the people out there might decide to burn us alive if they heard!”

Elisabeth locked eyes with a concerned Grim, who nodded silently. Elisabeth took a few steps and shut the door quietly as Dagna moved further into the office. The dwarf smelled off, like oatmeal left on the burner too long. Elisabeth had no doubt the entire Undercroft smelled the same, probably the result of another of Dagna’s brilliantly terrifying projects.

She crossed her office again, reaching her chair and sitting down. She’d been friends with Varric long enough that she knew dwarves didn’t love being loomed over, despite rarely commenting on it.

Dagna was staring at the curved outer wall of the room, where Elisabeth had started to pin things; feathers she’d found on the battlements, a simple note from Krem where he’d called her Amata in writing for the first time, one of Sera’s less rude sketches she sometimes found hidden in her books. It was less expansive than the wall of papers back in her _atelier_ in Val Royeaux, but she’d managed to bring a bit of that flavour here. Her precious trunk, which Bull had admitted had been the first thing to tweak his interest in her, was now permanently open at the back of the room. The top of it was now covered in piles of books in various states of mending and a paperweight made with a piece of Krem’s old maul, which had broken beyond repair on a mission.

The space was busy, cluttered, and just the way she liked it.

Dagna finally stopped investigating the wall, and turned to face Elisabeth. “After you left, I gathered what you had expelled and put it into a decanter I had nearby...”

Elisabeth’s hand shot up. “Wait. You picked up my vomit? And kept it?”

“Yes!”

“Just checking, please go on.”

“I theorized that your fluids might have an equally reactive reaction to the red lyrium than you did.” Dagna blushed, twiddling her fingers behind her back. “So I may have put a drop of your… purge on the red lyrium.” Her blush deepened, and she hopped on her heels, obviously thrilled to bits about the reaction. “It spontaneously combusted!” she declared, shouting happily.

Elisabeth shushed her; the other woman quieted down but didn’t stop bouncing.

“Isn’t that brilliant?” she whispered loudly.

“It’s terrifying. What does it mean?”

“It means a few things; you might be able to cure the Blight… or make blighted creatures explode. Or both!”

Someone behind Dagna let out a deep, soft laugh. In the corner behind the door, a humanoid form began to take shape, pulling itself together from the shadows around the room. “ _I-Irresistible..._ interesting...” 

The dwarf turned around to face the intruder only to be grabbed by the throat by a large man in a dark brown hooded coat. He lifted her off the ground, her small feet kicking wildly as he did.

Elisabeth reached forward but froze when the man turned his bright green gaze on her, wide and interested; this had to be Bourgeois.

“We’re going to be _s-silent_ … subservient, aren’t we, Lady Elizabeth?” he said, giving Dagna a quick shake. The small woman seemed to still be able to breathe, if only in gasping breaths. “We wouldn’t want anything _t-t-terrible_ tragic to happen to your _fr-frightened_ friend here.”

The man seemed to pause and shiver, but only on occasional words which seemed to stammer out of his mouth with a halted hiss, as if he was trying to pick a word and sometimes saying two instead.

“Please let her go. I’ll give you whatever you want.” She couldn’t let someone important, someone else die for her mistakes. “I’ll go with you. Just let her go please.”

“What we _d-desperately_ desire? As if you could buy us out, like your other little _ca-ca-caged_ canaries.” The green from his eyes seemed to grow past the edges of his eyelids, before snapping back to his irises. “We’re not interested in your _g-gold_ and goods, nor are we interested in this _r-repulsive_ runt.“

Dagna’s breath was becoming ragged.

“Anything.” Elisabeth said, reaching forward again.

“We want your deceptions… your _d-d-dissimulations_ … Perhaps Briala would prefer you alive?” The green glow spread once again, and for a blink Elisabeth was sure she could see two of the man, one solid and the other like a green ghost, occupying the same space but separate. The smell of burnt oatmeal hit her again, and she realised her earlier mistake.

“Demon!” Dagna spat, her voice cracking as she squeezed the word out. “Abomina…”

Her voice cut out as the man threw her forward. Elisabeth attempted to catch her, but ended up stumbling back into her opened trunk as Dagna hit her. Both women tumbled down, Dagna wheezing as she held her throat. Elisabeth struggled to stand, pulling herself up on the shelves of the trunk, knocking out papers as she did. She tried to step in front of Dagna, hoping that someone outside her office had heard their fall.

“You would blaspheme us, the perfection… _the pa-pa-paragon..._?” The man was still whispering but advancing on them. “We could lie, and say we’re going to let you live, but we won’t.” His hands morphed into green talons, and he playfully waved them towards the two women.

Elisabeth had never seen an abomination before, other than Anders, and when she’d met him, Anders was still firmly in control. It was obvious that whoever Bourgeois was sharing his body with had more access to the real world.

“ _We will… We will enjoy this_.”

A sudden knock at the door interrupted his advance. The knock turned into a push, but Bourgeois had apparently locked the door before revealing himself. The pounding on the door quickly turned desperate.

Elisabeth reached above Dagna into one of the higher shelves in her sideways trunk, pulling out one of the many _letter openers_ Michel had made her keep in there. Though they could open letters with ease, they were also kept sharp and properly balanced for throwing.

She didn’t have a lot of room to line up her shot; Elisabeth threw the knife, aiming at his core. As the blade sunk into his stomach, Bourgeois roared a dual scream, one part human pain, another demonic anger. The spirit within him seemed to surge forward, all wispy edges, claws and rage. He was less solid than the demons Elisabeth had encountered before, seemed more ephemeral, like a ghost from stories that no longer applied to her world.

With no plan in mind she stepped forward, hands out, hoping that whoever was now trying to break the door down would manage to get in before the demon ripped through her and got to Dagna.

Both her and the demon froze when they finally touched each other, Dagna’s whines and the shouts coming from outside falling away as both realised how wrong each had been.

Elisabeth’s hands wrapped around the spirit’s shoulders even as her eyes convinced her she should be moving through the non-corporeal shape. It felt cold and raspy, crunching slightly under her grip like a hollow _papier mache_ model _._

The demon, on the other hand, tried to sink his claws into Elisabeth’s torso, only to have them slide through without injuring her. It tried to pull back in shock to find that it was immobilised, Elisabeth’s hands easily holding his normally insubstancial shoulders in place.

“ _Wha… What are you?_ ” the demon said, a hint of fear slipping into the stumbling of his words.

Unwilling to let go of any advantage she had, Elisabeth squeezed down on his shoulder with all her strength. With a ripping, crunchy sound that reminded her of walking on fall leaves, she broke through the spirit’s form, making the creature shriek. She let go of what felt like disintegrating paper in her grip and seized the shape again, using both hands now to attempt to rip into it.

The demon screamed as she ripped at it’s chest; she couldn’t clearly see the damage she was causing, but she could feel the resistance as she tore strips into it, as she unravelled and tore into it like a cheap pinata. The smell of burnt oatmeal soured, and she gagged as her eyes filled with tears. Still she clawed at it, trying to dismantle it by feel.

A step behind the demon, the man was screeching, dark blood staining his stomach, one of his arms having gone completely limp.

Elisabeth adjusted her grip as she grimaced, trying to get her fingers into the crinkling mess of the spirit’s throat, gripping and tearing as deep as she could.

The door slammed open as she finally got a proper hold and ripped with all her might; it felt like she was tearing a phonebook in half. The creature shrieked and dissolved into green flecks of something, a hollow mummy losing all its wrappings.

Grim stepped forward and silently stabbed a dagger into the back of Bourgeois’ neck. The assassin stopped making noise instantly, falling to the ground as the greenish ashes fell above him.

Elisabeth trembled, her hands shaking violently. She felt like she had papercuts under all of her nails; her skin felt parched, dry and flaky.

In the doorway stood a shocked-looking crowd. Grim and Leliana had already stepped into the room, both checking the man's body for any signs of life. Dorian has his staff out, seemingly confused to have nothing to shoot fireballs at. None seemed more shocked than the Inquisitor and Solas, though, who had obviously just arrived from wherever they’d been, still in their filthy travelling leathers.

“You killed a spirit with your bare hands.” Dagna said behind her, quietly but loud enough for the audience outside her office to hear.

Solas stepped back, his arms wrapping protectively around a short elven woman with rough cut silver-black hair Elisabeth had never seen before.

“Good job!” Cole shouted, appearing beside Elisabeth.

Elisabeth stumbled back, suddenly incredibly light-headed, but still trying to put distance between her and the spirit boy.

“Get back, Cole, I don’t…”

“You won’t hurt me.” Cole said. “I’m not so easy to tear and shred as Deceit.”

The panic running through her veins seemed to dissipate all at once; she had the half-sense of dropping to her knees before everything went dark.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> Orphelinat des Abandonnés - Orphanage of the abandonned  
> la Bourdonne - the buzzer, or the bee, or the wasp  
> marchandise - merchandise  
> madame - lady  
> atelier - workshop
> 
> I don't usually like fainting damsels, but I feel like she deserves it.


	25. Different Colours of Wisdom

Elisabeth woke up, tucked comfortably into her own bed. She was warm, cozy, and it only took her an instant to remember that once again, something devastatingly terrible had happened to her in Thedas. She could still smell the burnt, papery smell of the abomination.

She realised someone else was in the room and sighed. She was getting sick and fucking tired of waking up with anyone other than Krem watching her sleep.

“We are sorry we could not be your heart’s home.” a slow and calm female voice said from near her feet.

Elisabeth opened her eyes. Solas was pacing the short few steps across the room, and the woman he had been protecting earlier was standing at the bottom of her bed, her hands held in front of her. She was incredibly still. Her face was rounded, and her traditional elven clothes were pristine. Solas on the other hand looked more haggard than usual. He was wearing the same kind of long woolen sweater he usually wore, but it was torn at the sleeve and had pretty significant blood stains. One of his ears still had a knick in it, and his cheek sported a bruise.

“What the fuck happened to you?” She asked, her voice surprisingly hoarse.

“Demons and rifts in the Exalted Plains.” He sounded even more exhausted than he looked, somehow. 

Something in Elisabeth’s brain clicked, and her eyes caught on a leather cord hanging around the woman’s neck.

The woman smiled and pulled out one of the amulets she’d originally gotten for Cole.

“You’re Wisdom!” Elisabeth gasped, starting to get out of her bed. She stopped herself as she noticed Solas move towards Wisdom protectively. “You shouldn’t be here. I might be dangerous to you.”

“Of course not.” The woman said, patting the hand Solas had laid on her arm. “The young kind one was correct, you can not hurt us while we are in these forms.” Her speech was slow, as if every word was being savoured as it was said. “It is good to finally meet the one who convinced my wolf to dull his teeth.” She glanced sideways at Solas, who appeared to flush slightly. “I had ever so much trouble sensing you before crossing over. Solas’ descriptions do not do your strangeness justice, Liz in Wonderland.”

Elisabeth’s brow furrowed even as she smiled. “What?”

“That is what the young kind one calls you in his mind, when he is worried.”

“His name is Cole,  _ ma falon _ .”

Wisdom looked at him for a few seconds, tilting her head. “Yes, yes it is.” She paused again, then smiled. “I may need a name, my wolf, if I am to remain here with you.”

There was a way she said the last few words that made Solas flush red again; this time the blush reached his ears.

Something in his face made Elisabeth melt, but also miss Krem desperately.

“I will go get him. He was in here for hours while you slept. The large man with the horns convinced him to rest.”

She nodded to Elisabeth, and put her hand to Solas’ cheek. “Of course I will be careful. I am more powerful than I look.”

She glided out of the room, passing through the door as if it wasn’t there.

Elisabeth stared at Solas in happy disbelief as the mage attempted to put his composed image back together. When his hand lingered on his cheek for a moment, she couldn’t help but snort and laugh, much to his annoyance. 

“Sit, please.” She waved him to her bed, pulling her legs up so he’d have more room. “Tell me what happened with you first, then I’ll go.”

Solas sighed, nodding. “As soon as I could locate my friend after the experience with Cole in Redcliffe, I warned her about the mages and the summoning. She agreed to attempt to move out of their sphere of influence, but the Fade doesn’t always… a spirit’s location isn’t a physical place. She was tied to the Dales in the same way one always remembers their home village.

“The Inquisitor agreed to accompany me; Varric and Blackwall came with us. Even with your directions, it took us nearly a day to locate the mages.”

She winced; she’d remembered it was somewhere between the Dalish camp and the ruined cemetery, but otherwise the whole area was a bit  _ floue _ no matter how she tried. 

“They’d begun their summoning, but the amulet’s power managed to disrupt it long enough for my friend to break free. Unfortunately the backlash of magic caused the already weakened veil to tear, causing a rift to appear above us.”

He rubbed at his head, his shoulders dropping; he was obviously exhausted. “The mages scattered. We fought. I somehow managed to protect Wisdom and the Inquisitor closed the rift.”

Elisabeth knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t help but ask. “Did you spare the mages?”

Solas’ mouth hung open. He looked properly shook for the first time, more so than when she’d admitted she knew he was Fen’harel or when she’d admitted she was from another world.

“She stayed my hand.” He said quietly. “She asked me to spare them.”

“I would have done the same.” She responded just as softly. “It was never possible to save her before. I watched your heart break every time she died.”

Elisabeth startled slightly as Solas grabbed her hand, squeezing it tight. “Ma serannas…” he whispered, his hands gripping hers. “If she had perished…”

Unable to finish the thought, Solas just held her hand in silence.

Her bedroom door opened and a confused-faced Krem walked in, Wisdom following behind. Solas released Elisabeth’s hand after a final squeeze. 

“Is she like Cole?” Krem asked, pointing back at the small elven woman. “She doesn’t seem to walk… at all.”

Everyone looked at Wisdom’s feet, which were floating just a finger’s width above the ground. With a concentrated huff, she dropped the short distance to the floor, then frowned as she tapped her wrapped feet. 

Krem kicked off his boots and climbed into the bed behind Elisabeth. He wrapped his arms around her and sighed into her neck. “Bull made me get some food and a bath.” He rubbed his still-wet hair against her cheek to prove his statement, making her squirm happily.

“We should let you rest, now that we have seen you are well.” Wisdom said. “Solas can help you unravel your questions tomorrow after you have both had some sleep.”

Part of Elisabeth wanted to argue, but Solas was obviously on his last leg, and Krem was incredibly warm behind her.

“I will see you in the morning,  _ mon ami _ .” She said, giving Solas permission to leave. The elf nodded, and allowed himself to be led out by Wisdom, who took his elbow in her hands and leant her head on his shoulder, whispering something in Elvhen as they left.

Elisabeth sighed as Krem held her tight. 

“What time is it?”

“Shortly passed midnight. Do you think you can sleep?” He asked, as he maneuvered them back under the blankets. 

“If you stay I might.”

Krem kissed her softly before tucking his forehead against hers. “I’m glad you’re alright.” He whispered. 

“I’m sorry…” Elisabeth was suddenly feeling unsure. “I know this is weird, and I shouldn’t be able to do what I did…”

“Liz.”

“And I don’t want you to be scared, but I’m scared silly so why wouldn’t you be… ?”

“Elisabeth.”

“And I know this is a lot of weird demon shit and I’m sorry…”

“Amata!” Krem interrupted kindly. “Yes, it’s weird demon shit, but I’m from Tevinter, remember? Demon shit is the national pastime.”

He grinned at her, and Elisabeth found herself answering his smile with her own.

“Okay. Alright. We’ll get it sorted tomorrow.”

“Or soonish. There’s no rush.” He gently pulled her into his shoulder, and with him rubbing small circles in her upper arm, she eventually fell back asleep.

\--

It turned out, once morning came, that there was a significant rush, if the Inquisitor and his advisors were to be believed. She was summoned to the war room earlier than she would have liked.

She wondered if anyone else had the same sense of dread she now associated with the broken-walled corridor and the small wicket door. Did Mahanon hear his heart beat in his ears when he pushed the door open? Did Cullen’s palms get clammy at the thought of the world map, covered in little pins? Did Josephine stare at those pins and wonder how much it would cost the Inquisition to sort out each one? Had Leliana ever felt as nervous as Elisabeth did now?

Inside the war room, the advisors and Mahanon were speaking quietly around the large war table. Dorian, Solas, Vivienne and Dagna were near one of the windows. Elisabeth sighed. She’d been avoiding Vivienne since before the Winter Palace, and barring the trip back from the Western Approach when the mage had been her unwilling part-time jailor, she’d been doing quite well.

Considering Vivienne’s whispered tones were the harshest and most angry, her luck had run out.

“Ah, thank you for joining us.” Leliana said. It was impossible to tell if she was annoyed that Elisabeth was the last one to arrive or not.

Elisabeth decided to take it in stride. She had tried to wash under her nails for nearly twenty minutes that morning, but she could still feel papery slivers of the abomination every once in a while. “How can I help?”

“You can begin by telling us when you were planning to be upfront about your abilities.” Viviennne said sharply, before anyone else had time to speak. The mage stood tall, her horned helm perfectly perched on her head, her eyes glaring cold daggers at Elisabeth.

“When I find out the full extent of them, I’ll be sure to let you know.” Elisabeth spat out.

“I’m more concerned about Skyhold being infiltrated by an abomination than her being able to kill it. I kill demons all the time.” Mahanon shook his head. “Don’t we have guards and templars hanging around?”

Cullen was bright red, staring off to the side. “Inquisitor…”

“Bourgeois was an aberration in more ways than one, Inquisitor.” Leliana defended. “There is no excuse for his getting through our people, but if anyone could best our defences, it was him.”

Mahanon nodded. “Josie?”

“I’ll handle Briala, Inquisitor.” she said, though she’d locked eyes with Elisabeth. Her smile seemed kind, but had a definite edge to it. “It would be good to remind her who put her into the position of power she is so egregiously exploiting.”

“Thank you, Josephine.” Elisabeth said quietly. “If you can manage to sneak in a mention about shattering mirrors, it may help to shake her up a bit more.”

Elisabeth almost missed the tiny twitch in Solas’ fingers at her allusion to the eluvians.

The ambassador hummed. “Noted.” she said coldly.

“Mirrors?” Vivienne demanded. She wasn’t quite losing her legendary cool, but it was getting close. “How can any of you keep entertaining this lying welp?” The mage stalked towards Elisabeth, who took a few steps back, bringing her hands up in front of her. “She has brought abominations into our midsts! She could be one of them herself!”

“She lied about her identity and political leanings, she lied about her origins, and now she lies about what danger she poses to us! She has led all of you on with her show of weakness! How do we know she is on our side; that she has not been working against the Inquisition in the same way she has worked so long against the Circles?!”

Vivienne grabbed one of Elisabeth’s wrists with her long manicured fingers, and something inside of Elisabeth snapped. Her free hand wrapped around Vivienne’s wrist and the two women held each other still, glaring daggers at each other.

No one dared interfere, though a few of the spectators slowly unsheathed their weapons.

Elisabeth was so tired; if killing a demon in her cozy office had been the straw that broke the camel’s back, Vivienne mage-handling her was a whole extra bale.

She missed talking instantly to friends across the world. She missed her parents, and the messages they would leave on the nearly-antique answering machine she kept just for them. She missed Diet Coke.

She missed changing the colour of her living room walls once a year. She longed for pinning colour swatches to her walls for a few months, imagining greens and blues for weeks before settling on another gorgeous warm shade of yellow or orange. Of all the stupid things to miss, she missed that.

She missed not having to worry about the fate of a whole world relying on her potentially dodgy memory.

The more Elisabeth felt the loss of her world, the more Vivienne’s carefully constructed veneer cracked. As she concentrated on all the things she had tried to ignore, she missed the look of horror slowly breaking out on the enchanter’s face.

“What are you doing to me…” Vivienne whispered, as her knees buckled. In all her years since coming into her magic, the enchanter had never felt so cut off from the Fade, so helpless.

“You’re gonna listen,  _ compris _ ? I am sick and tired of your self-righteous bullshit! You’re being a hypocritical bitch, and you only think about yourself and the position Circles and proper magic can bring you!” Vivienne had let go of her wrist, but Elisabeth was still grasping at the enchanter’s. “You work with two non-circle mages who are just as good as you, if not better! Every day you need to look at the Commander, whose life was fucking wrecked by the same system you keep blindly championing! What is wrong with you, you selfish witch?!”

Elisabeth felt hands on her shoulders, gently holding her back. She released the enchanter, finally realising that she’d brought Vivienne to her knees.

The enchanter sat back, her tight dress causing her issues as she tried to sort out her legs. Cassandra took her elbow and helped her up; the Seeker’s face was stern.

“You never cared about anyone but yourself!” Elisabeth shouted. “When I played, I would ignore your invitation and never even meet you. I would recruit everyone else and made sure I did my best for them, but I left you to rot in Val Royeaux. Listening to you belittle all the other companions was one of the worst parts of the whole game!”

The hands on her shoulders tightened at her words. She slapped her hands over her mouth, realising what she had just said. She had hoped never to have to explain what a video game was; she had hoped never to use the word  _ game  _ at all.

She turned her head; Solas had pulled her away from Vivienne, but he was now stepping back, concern written across his face. Elisabeth clutched her arms, pulling away from the group.

“You never wanted to tell them.” Cole said, having appeared behind her silently. The spirit pulled her into his arms, his sharp chin digging into her shoulder. “You’re so tired of Thedas, of Skyrim, of Azeroth. Of Wonderland without the cards.”

“I need to go.” Elisabeth tried to pull out of Cole’s arms, but he was holding her too tight.

“Elisabeth, please wait.” Solas was approaching her again, hands out. “Your powers are evidently tied to your will. We need to discuss…”

“I don’t have powers.” she whispered. “I’m normal.”

“She needs to go.” Cole said loudly, and both him and Elisabeth disappeared in a cloud of rogue dissimulation powder.

Mahanon shook his head and turned to the magic users. Dagna was already tugging at Solas’ sleeve, trying to get his attention. “Dorian, Solas and Dagna, when Elisabeth has recovered, please be mindful when approaching her with further experiments. We may deal with demons all the time, but she does not. Would you leave us please?”

With nods and mumbled goodbyes, the three left the War room.

He turned to Vivienne, Cassandra and the advisors.

“Josie, handle Briala. Cullen and Cassandra, please make sure we’re keeping everyone as safe as we can. Go through the ranks; ask Cole and Bull if they have any concerns.” He nodded to them and they left, taking the hint.

Vivienne waited till they’d closed the door to speak up. “Inquisitor, this assault cannot be overlooked! This power she has over mages…” 

“It’s no different than the power templars had over mages for the last age. You assaulted her first and she defended herself, enchanter.” He turned away from her. “Leliana, would you be so kind as to share with her what you told me last week? About that special wyvern heart?” He turned back in time to see Vivienne clutch her staff. Her mouth had hung open, and she looked more shocked than when her power had been cut away by Elisabeth.

“Very well, Inquisitor.”

Cole, without a door, knocked on the table, twice. The remaining people in the room spun to look at him.

“She says it will hurt Cullen to go to the shrine with the red lyrium. That you’ll find tools for Dagna. That the Dalish doing research at temple will all die.. And that she wants to be left alone.”

He disappeared again, without the showy rogue powder this time. He didn’t need it if he didn’t have a passenger.

“Well then… I’m going to go try to convince Cullen he doesn’t have to go to the Shrine of Dumat. I’ll probably fail. Wish me luck.” He nodded at Leliana, sighed at Vivenne, and left the room.

“Enchanter, you may want to sit down.” Leliana said, her voice quiet but sharp.

\--

Elisabeth knew she was being childish, but she was hiding. She’d never wanted to say the word game. She thought she’d accepted long ago that this world was just as real as her old one. If it wasn’t, why was she bothering with trying so hard for everyone?

She was sitting in the ruined part of the jail, under the castle. Cole had first transported her up to her room, but the plain stone walls had nearly started her crying all over again. She’d needed a change, needed something different. With another blink, Cole had moved them to the dungeons, past the bored guard near the still stable group of cells. She’d babbled some things out to him, made him promise to tell Mahanon, and then sat. It had been a few hours now, she imagined. 

The sound of the waterfall was wonderfully deafening, though it didn’t manage to completely drown out the thoughts bouncing around in her head. It did aptly cover the whines she emitted as she dug her fingers into the inside of her lower arm, her nails leaving crescent shapes above the red marks that she knew would turn to bruises by this evening.

She was hiding because she knew that none of them would want to deal with her now; none of them would appreciate being told their world was just a gamel. That their reality wasn’t… real.

“Isn’t that what they’ve been telling you this whole time, though?” said a calm voice, clear above the din of the waterfall.

Wisdom was standing against the wall, leaning on it with her shoulder despite her sneaker-clad feet not touching the ground. She was wearing blue jeans and a t-shirt with a blurry blue telephone box on it. As Elisabeth focused on it, it became clearer. She’d owned that shirt, at one point in her life. Apart from the spirit’s levitation and pointed ears, she could have fit in in a coffee shop or a university classroom.

Elisabeth stood up carefully, the stones steady under her leather boots. When she reached Wisdom she ducked down and rubbed her hand on the jeans, just above the knee. The fabric looked right, but felt like silk. As her fingers moved along it began to feel rougher, more like jeans.

“I apologise. Details can be tricky to pull out of your mind. The young kind one… Cole, has worked hard to learn to feel you. He has done so because he feels you and he are the same; both just here to help.”

Wisdom’s feet landed on the ground with a tiny tap that Elisabeth felt she shouldn’t have been able to hear with the noise of the waterfall. In fact, all of Wisdom’s words had been clear, heard in her head instead of in her ears.

“I just worry so much… and I feel like none of it helps.” Her words were quiet, but Wisdom seemed to have no problem hearing her.

“It helps. You helped Cole find himself without changing him; you help your heart’s home feel happy in his body; you helped the honorable one find his honor once again. You may not have been able to help everyone, but you have helped more people than you think. You remind me of my wolf.”

“Is that a good thing?” Elisabeth asked.

“It is now.” Wisdom turned her head towards the door. “Are you ready to be found?” The spirit asked.

It took a few seconds for Elisabeth to nod.

Wisdom disappeared and the door to the intact jail cells opened.

“By the blasted Stone, there you are!” Rocky said, his voice a bit breathless. “Could you not have picked a more structurally sound hiding place?” Despite his apparent bulk, he easily stepped over to her, instinctively missing the more unstable rocks. “We’ve been looking for you. You’re missing your surprise.”

“What surprise?”

“Well quite!” He took her hand and led her across, away from the din, back to solid ground. “Cole came to us in a huff - that boy is a weird nug, isn’t he? - and Krem and Dorian have been working since then. Sent all of us and the Chief to find out where you’d stashed yourself.”

“I didn’t mean to cause trouble…”

The dwarf took a few more steps till they were both on stable stones. “You’re no trouble. You’ve made Krem deliriously happy, and you’ve never looked down your nose at any of us despite being more smart than the whole Shaperate and richer than the Carta. And human.” Rocky winked; he winked with his whole face, making his mustache wiggle too.

Elisabeth smiled and squeezed his hand. “Alright, where is this surprise?”

—

They took a roundabout way back to her room. Rocky told her a story about one of their missions, where Krem had been so focused on a letter he was writing - to her - that he’d failed to notice the camp being attacked. When he popped out of the tent, his letter finished, he’d missed out on all the fun. Elisabeth wasn’t sure that it was quite as funny as Rocky seemed to think it was, but she was flattered nonetheless.

When they arrived at her room, the door was already open.

“Pavus, honestly, have you never held a hammer in your life?” she heard Krem whisper.

“As a matter fact, no, I’ve never had the pleasure.”

“I can tell.”

She walked into her room, finding it fuller than it had ever been before. Dagna was sitting with Sera on her bed, laughing at something the elf was whispering in her ear. Solas was shaking his head, looking at Dorian and Krem who were both standing on her bookshelves.

Krem was holding up a large turquoise piece of cloth that Elisabeth would swear she’d spotted draped over Dorian’s chair in the library in the past. The embroidered golden snakes were another hint to its origin. Dorian himself was holding the aforementioned hammer, trying to drive a small nail into the wooden beams that wrapped around the perimeter of her room.

She’d seen some of the people with rooms that had outside walls hang woolen tapestries to keep the cold out. She’d never needed them being in the middle of Dorian and Solas’ rooms. Both men kept their rooms magically warm.

With a triumphant cry, Dorian finally got the nail in. Krem hopped down, noticing Elisabeth.

“How are you doing?” he asked softly, taking her in his arms.

“I’ve been better, but what’s all this?”

Every wall now had different fabric panels, blankets and scarves hanging up around it. Dorian’s embroidered throw shared a wall with a bright pink panel of fabric that pooled on the floor. Another wall was adorned with a soft green gauzy square of fabric with an embroidered tree delicately outlined in off-white thread, next to a warm brown banner which looked like it had actually been used by an army at some point. Her bookshelf now had a plaidweave runner, her bed had an extra burgundy throw and three new pillows in red, yellow and orange. It was as if a haberdashery had exploded in her bedroom and she loved it.

She was smiling so wide her face nearly hurt. “This is…”

“Widdle Bits here brought the plaidweave, leftover from some armor. I brought the pink.” Sera said.. ”I gots more if you need it.”

“I contributed the  _ Vhenadahl _ drapery.” Solas said with a sideways nod of his head. Wisdom appeared beside him, laying her head on his upper arm. She was dressed in her elven garb again.

“The ambassador donated the pillows, and the silk comes from my personal collection.” Dorian added, still up high.

“The scarves and the banner come from the Chargers’ stash.” Krem said, pulling her into his arms. “We can find more if you need them.”

“Cole said you needed colours on your walls as soon as possible.” He had a small crinkle on his forehead. “Not sure why, but it came together pretty quick.”

Elisabeth’s breath trembled as she attempted to find words to explain paint swatches and the emotional value of redecorating.

“I knew you’d like it.” Cole said happily, suddenly sitting high up on the cupboard with Dorian.

“Aw, tits! I think she’s going to cry!” Sera grabbed hold of one of the pillows and chucked it lazily at Elisabeth’s head. Krem easily blocked it with his forearm. “Quick, let’s get her to the tavern with a couple drinks in her before this becomes emotional and gross.”

Elisabeth nodded, looking around the space one more time before letting herself be led down to the rotunda by the small well-meaning crowd.

As they walked into the main hall, Elisabeth spotted a hooded dwarven figure speaking with Varric near what she thought of as his fireplace. Varric saw her and caught her eye, making the person he was speaking to turn. The visitors' sharp eyes narrowed when they recognized her.

“Oh, hello Ellie… Eleanor… What was it again?” the woman asked cruelly.

“Elisabeth.” Varric said, with a wince.

“Right, yes. Hello again.”

“Hello Bianca. Fancy seeing you here.” Elisabeth tried to keep the bitterness out of her tone. “You know in public, with Varric.” She smiled, but it was a vicious grin that confused the people around her. “I suppose even you can’t keep hiding like a coward forever.” She turned away from Bianca to face Varric head on. “Varric dear, if you see the Inquisitor, could you ask that he drop by the tavern? I need to have a chat about an expedition I’d like to be included in.”

Varric’s shoulders dropped, and something of a glare crossed his eyes. “Yeah sure, Bookworm.” He said, his voice friendly as always. “I’ll send him your way if I see him.”

“Thank you Varric. Goodbye Bianca.” Elisabeth didn’t wait for a response, walking away towards the hall’s main doors, forcing everyone to catch up to her after an awkward goodbye to Varric.

Dorian and Dagna shared a worried look.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations
> 
> floue - fuzzy  
> Ma serannas - thank you  
> compris - understood


	26. Well, merde! Or, the one with Bianca

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW: vomit, blood, staring into the abyss, self-inflicted wounds

The year Camille turned five, a sickness tore through the poorer parts of Val Royeaux, where the water wasn’t as clean and everyone lived in much closer proximity to each other. The richer neighbourhoods managed to escape almost unscathed. In the alienage and the worker’s lodgings, dozens died of what was, in Elisabeth’s completely unprofessional opinion, a flu.

There were too few medical professionals, and nowhere to put the sick.

“What would help the most?” she had asked, on one visit to the alienage to bring them extra food and blankets. She was wearing a scarf over her face, trying to keep her distance from the people who were coughing and sneezing. “What does the alienage need that the rich have?”

“Honestly?” The Harehn asked. “If we could have a dozen elfroot healing potions, we’d be able to cure the most sick. There’s no chance of getting any of those, unfortunately.”

Of course elfroot would fix it, she thought stupidly. These people relied on magic to fix things even as they feared it. “I have the gold, my friend, and you know I don’t mind spending it.”

“You have been generous, but even you can’t buy what isn’t for sale.”

He kindly tapped her arm, with the same hand he’d sneezed into in the last five minutes. Undeterred, Elisabeth had gone shopping to find that the old man had been right. Every single alchemist’s shop was shut, every single merchant was sold out, and even the farmers who would supplement their crops by selling the elfroot they could gather on their way up to the city were sold out.

She’d hurried home, grumpy and defeated, to find Elaine and Camille coughing and sneezing.

“Genova!” she shouted, looking for her head chef. The woman was also the unofficial head of the few servants they’d hired to keep the house.

“ _Si_ , Madame, _si_! What is it? Two of the girls have not come in because of the plague.”

“It’s not a plague, it’s a flu, and that’s what this is about.” She paused, trying to think of the easiest way to explain what she needed to without sounding insane. More insane, anyway. “I need any staff we have to wash their hands any time they cough, sneeze, touch food or door knobs. And they have to use soap every time.”

Genova scoffed. “Why? It’s such a waste?”

“It’s not, and it will keep us all healthier. Please just do it.”

Genova shook her head, shrugging her wide shoulders.

She called Michel and Elaine into her office, and after coordinating for a delivery of soap to be sent to the alienage, she asked about the nearest elfroot farm.

“ _Ben non_ , there’s no such thing.” Elaine said. “Elfroot is a wild crop, that’s what makes it so valuable.”

“So why not farm it, if it’s valuable?”

“ _Penses-y_!” Michel laughed. “They would be robbed every harvest!”

“So hire guards!”

“It’s not _that_ valuable, _mon amie_.”

With an angry grunt, Elisabeth headed out, Michel on her tail.

That had been the start of _Les Fermes Déméter_ , her not-for-profit farms, where she grew the basic herbs required for healing potions and general wellness, which she sold at cost to the alienages and other choice clients. The farms had never made her any money, but she could afford it.

She’d gone hunting for the missing alchemists, and found them all in private, lavish residences, employed by Val Royeaux’s elite. Michel and her were kicked out of three big houses before they realised the alchemists would be no help.

The university was a bit more useful; there, she met a man named Désiré Blanchard, who was attempting to study what soil mix led to the most potent elfroot. He’d briefly laughed at her when she’d described her plan, but when she’d volunteered to back the entire project and hire bodyguards for him and anywhere they would settle, he’d taken her a bit more seriously. More than money though, he needed plant samples, soil samples and seeds.

Elisabeth had thought that starting up an elfroot farm would have been simple. By the end of a month, she was approaching her fourth Dalish clan (only one had chased her away) to bargain for any extra elfroot, seeds and soil they came across. Some clans were wary of her deal, since selling extra elfroot to humans often depleted their already meagre incomes. Having Michel with her somewhat helped, as did the promise of how much they were willing to pay for each sample.

By the end of the first year, she had five farms growing elfroot, two growing spindleweed and another, in a more mountainous region, growing rashvine. She’d also discovered that there were dozens of herbs that she hadn’t known grew in Thedas. Some things she recognised, others she didn’t. If they could serve a medical purpose and Blanchard thought he could optimise their growth, she was in.

She invested in farms up in Nevarra and Antiva, where they grew embrium, witherstalk and more, including one of her favourites, ginger, which was commonly called spice root. All in all, she now owned, wholly or partially, nearly 45 modern-ish farms. 

Blanchard fronted most of the business, thank goodness, and a few clerks in each country made sure everything ran smoothly. She was glad the farms didn’t need much of her input; she honestly had a black thumb and probably wouldn’t know clover from royal elfroot.

\--

The Inquisitor had put up a bit of a fuss. Cassandra had put up quite a bit more. Varric had been adamant that she shouldn’t come. Still, two days after Bianca had visited Skyhold, Elisabeth was accompanying the three of them and Solas into the Hinterlands, towards Valammar mines to the west. It helped her case that the Inquisitor had previously cleared out one group of Carta and dealt with the darkspawn way back before the fall of Haven. 

They were meeting Bianca there, which meant Elisabeth didn’t have to pretend to be nice to her for the duration of the trip.

“What are you not telling us, Bookworm?” Varric asked her, his voice guarded.

Elisabeth looked at him. She knew he’d gotten far past drunk the evening of Bianca’s visit. She didn’t typically notice his laugh lines and few grey hairs among the reddish-blond, but today, he looked his age, and more. He’d been through so much already and she hated that she was adding to it.

Elisabeth pinched her lips together for a moment. “It’ll be easier for Bianca to show you.”

“So why are you even here?” Cassandra huffed. Her relationship with the Seeker still wasn’t great, made worse by her refusal to tell them the whole truth of what they’d find there.

Solas nudged his hart towards her and lay his hand on her arm. His eyes questioned her quietly, but she shook her head.

They arrived at Valammar in the late afternoon. Varric and the Inquisitor insisted on checking out the mine right away. Varric didn’t want Bianca to have to wait too long, and the Inquisitor wanted to get it over with.

Solas helped Elisabeth put on the custom armour Krem had asked Dagna to make for her. Elisabeth had been borrowing some of Skinner’s armour when they trained, but it never fit quite right; she had more hips and chest than the elf, and was a touch shorter. The new gear fit her like a glove. It was light leather, snoufleur she guessed, dyed shades of greens with protection runes built into it. As long as the runes weren’t touching her skin, they seemed to work. That had always been true in her rune-heated baths, and further tests with Dagna had confirmed it.

Her arms and legs were protected by braces that could absorb hits but left her wrists and hands free to throw her knives if she needed to. In addition to her back holster, she now had one across her chest with extras of her small knives.

She trained weekly with Skinner whenever the elf was in Skyhold. When Krem had heard she was heading out with the Inquisitor the very next day, he’d made her practice for three hours straight. He wasn’t unkind, but she definitely saw traces of the “tough Lieutenant” the Chargers sometimes complained about. 

Solas tightened some of the straps under her arms again, shaking his head slightly. “Make sure you stay behind rocks and structures as much as possible. My barriers may not reliably protect you.”

Elisabeth waved off his concern, her eye catching Varric slipping on bracers of his own. “Don’t worry about me. I think this is the last…” she cut herself off, turning her gaze to the ground.

“What do you mean by that?” Solas asked with a frown. 

“Let’s move out!” The Inquisitor shouted.

Elisabeth moved away from Solas, but the elf caught her wrist in his quick fingers. “The last what, Elisabeth?”

She shook him off. “I think this is the last thing I need to do.”

She took a few quick steps to get ahead of him and stuck close to Mahanon as they climbed the slope behind the waterfall till they arrived at the wooden door leading into the mine.

There was no fade to black, no rotating icon, no waiting. Just one step then the other, and they were underground. Elisabeth’s hand went to her arm, pinching herself. It was harder, working around the straps of the brace. This was real. There were no progress bars, no shiny red shoes, no reloading.

She’d been able to help so many people, or at least minimise their pain, but she’d failed Varric. She’d failed her oldest friend in Thedas over and over again. The best she could do...

Bianca stepped out of the shadows, surprising everyone but Elisabeth.

“I’ve been waiting… what is _she_ doing here?”

“Bianca…”

“I’m here as Varric’s friend, nothing more.” She turned to the Inquisitor. “There’ll be Carta in the room Bianca brings us to. Possibly some lookouts.”

“What’s she saying?” Bianca asked, before being led further in by Varric putting his arm around her shoulders, pulling her away from Elisabeth. 

“You do not appear to be her favourite person.” Solas said drily.

“It’s mutual, believe me.”

The cavern opened up, and Elisabeth smiled despite herself. The light filtering down gave the cavern a strange glow, the damp walls reflecting the weak sunbeams and making the room shimmer. The neglected stonework and statues looked both regal and sad.

It would have been even more beautiful without people shooting at them. 

Varric and Bianca took care of the scouts with their bolts and arrows as Solas threw barriers over the group. Elisabeth had ducked behind the fallen statue of a Paragon, knife in hand, ready to throw it if needed.

Once all the bodies hit the floor, Bianca sneered at Elisabeth, then turned to bat her eyelashes at Varric. “It’s a good thing you’ve got someone as strong and capable as Varric watching your back, if all you do is cower.” 

“She has her reasons, Bianca, drop it.” Varric sounded tired.

Keeping her mouth shut, Elisabeth fell back next to Solas. They continued down stone paths, weapons at the ready.

“A little bird told me you were in Val Royeaux recently, Varric, but you didn’t come visit my workshop! You know Bogdan never comes by. You should have visited!”

“We were there on official business.” The Inquisitor’s tone was flat. “We didn’t have much time to visit.”

Bianca kept her eyes on Varric as she frowned dramatically. “But you had time to visit _her_ house and workshop, and _her_ alienage, didn’t you?”

Varric’s step stuttered. “How did you…”

“My family doesn’t send assassins when he’s seen in public with me, maybe that’s the difference?” Elisabeth hissed. “Being close to me isn’t an automatic death sentence.”

“You bitch…” Varric held Bianca back.

“Enough.” The Inquisitor said, his voice quiet but commanding. “We don’t have time for this. Don’t make me regret bringing you, Liz.”

Elisabeth held her tongue. He would probably regret it, she imagined, by the end of the day. She just needed… She took a deep breath and centred herself.

The group kept moving.

They descended a broken staircase, then another in further disrepair. A whiff of decomposition and rot drifted up from the depths, and Elisabeth reached into her pocket.

After her previous exposure to red lyrium, she was more ready for its effects on her and had come prepared. She pulled out a piece of candied ginger and popped it in her mouth. Her mom had always taken ginger pills when she travelled to ward off motion sickness. She was hoping the combination of the extra strong smell and medicinal properties would help her keep the contents of her stomach where they belonged once they reached Bianca’s locked hideout. Even if she was lucky and no red lyrium was present, she had a feeling the stench would linger.

“What are you eating?” The Inquisitor asked quietly.

“Candied spice root. It wards off nausea, because of you-know-what…”

Varric paused, a worried look in his eyes. “Are you going to be okay, Bookworm?”

Bianca scoffed. “Oh Stones, tell me that’s not why she’s here!” She said loudly and with obvious disgust. “Varric, did you get her pregnant? If you wanted kids, you know I would have been agreeable...”

The Inquisitor, Solas and Elisabeth were all stunned into silence, their mouths dropping open in disbelief.

“Enough!” Cassandra stepped forward, pulling up to her full height next to Varric, her shield not subtly positioned between the two dwarves. “You obviously have no knowledge of Lady Elisabeth and Varric’s relationship, and your disrespect of both of them has been more than obvious in the short time I have met you. For all their faults, they do not deserve your insults and games; I will not let you continue to disparage them without cause!”

The Seeker was breathing hard, as if the short tirade had tired her, but her expression didn’t waver. Her posture and tone betrayed her upper class origins; added to her bulk and armour, she cut a terrifying figure.

Bianca nodded her head silently, then turned and walked ahead hurriedly.

Varric shook off the disbelieving look he was giving Cassandra and followed.

Elisabeth had never thought that the Seeker, who had previously been so antagonistic, would come to her defence like this. “Thank you Cassandra

The other woman nodded, and stomped after Varric.

“Now I regret bringing Bianca.” Mahanon sighed.

They kept going down broken stone staircases and precarious walkways till they happened upon a large stone door.

“Let me get it.” Bianca said, accessing some sort of mechanism.

Elisabeth popped another piece of ginger into her mouth, hoping to counteract the smell. The deeper they descended, the worse it got.

The door slid open and Cassandra headed in, shield at the ready as Solas cast a barrier on her first, then the rest of the party. Elisabeth stayed well back so as not to disrupt any of the barriers. As the Seeker roared in challenge and charged, the Inquisitor faded into invisibility. Varric and Bianca’s projectiles flew through the room, expertly missing Cassandra and the Inquisitor as they aimed for the various Carta members who were quickly getting over their surprise. Elisabeth pulled a dagger from her bandelier, waiting for an opening.

Wooden open-top crates held massive spears of red lyrium, blood red and glowing in the reduced light of the stone hall. The stench was appalling, though none of the others seemed bothered. She put another piece of ginger in her mouth, chewing furiously. The smell made her eyes itch, but at least she wasn’t retching. 

A change in the shadows on one of the walls caught her eye. Rogue, her training with Skinner told her immediately. With a half-second check to make sure she could see the Inquisitor and Varric, she threw her knife. She had two more in her hands by the time it struck the wavering figure, which resolved into a screaming dwarf. She’d hit him in the thigh, which wasn’t bad, but would have earned her no praise from Skinner or Krem. She threw a second knife, which hit the man in the neck, quieting his shouts.

She kept chewing her ginger, throwing knives when she had an opening, and pushing further forward slowly to avoid the main fight. She would never forgive herself if someone got hurt thinking they were protected when she’d popped their barrier.

The shouting finally stopped, and the Inquisitor called an all-clear.

Elisabeth stepped forward, covering her mouth with her hand. She was sure she reeked of ginger, but she couldn’t care. Giving the crates of red lyrium the widest birth possible, she went through collecting her knives, wiping them dry on her victims’ clothes like she’d been shown. If someone had told her a decade ago that she’d one day be able to pull a knife out of a man’s neck with little to no qualms, she would have laughed them out of town. She used to live-catch mice in her apartment and release them in _Mont Royal_ park. Now…

One of the dead Carta dwarves has collapsed onto an open crate of red lyrium. He had one of her knives buried deep into his back. Elisabeth weighed her desire to have the knife back against her disgust of the lyrium, and decided she could do without one extra blade.

“Let me get it for you, Bookworm.” Varric said kindly, stepping between her and the lyrium and yanking the knife from between the dwarf’s ribs. He wiped it on the dead man’s sleeve and handed it to Elisabeth, handle first.

“Thank you.” She noticed Bianca heading towards the back of the room, searching for something.

“We should go check that out.” She told Varric.

Varric sighed. “Of course we should.”

The Inquisitor’s team arrived in time to hear Bianca declare happily that no one would be able to use this entrance again.

“Bianca…” Varric said slowly, his voice pained.

“You’re the leak?” Mahanon asked.

“When I got the location, I went to look for myself. When I found the lyrium, I studied it…”

Elisabeth knew Varric would be upset. What she wasn’t ready for was for the rogue to turn his back on Bianca completely, hitting her with all his anger.

“Andraste’s ass, Liz, you know what this stuff does to people!”

“I tried...”

He shook his head, his eye jumping between the others present. “You saved the Seekers, Solas’ spirit lover and the Inquisitor’s whole blasted clan, but you couldn’t… I’ve been there for you since the start!”

Bianca attempted to make confused noises, but Varric raised his hand abruptly, cutting her off.

“I tried to stop her before she came the first time, but the Carta killed anyone I sent to spy on her! Then I had the grey warden she was going to give the lyrium to assassinated, but she just handed it to another one who impersonated him! I tried to have her followed and dissuaded for nearly two years. A dozen of my agents died before I realised I’d failed you.”

Varric huffed, and started pacing as everyone grew more uncomfortable. “I’m surprised you didn’t have her killed outright. That’s the way you usually deal with people you decide are obstacles, don’t you!?”

Bianca’s gasp nearly muffled Elisabeth’s response. “I couldn’t…”

“What? You couldn’t kill my ex-girlfriend out of loyalty to me? How many people died…”

“It wasn’t for you, Varric, I’m sorry. It was for her inventions.”

The look of disgust and confusion on Varric’s face was breaking her heart. The smell of the lyrium was now only part of what was making Elisabeth feel nauseous.

“My farms need her machines. The alienages need reliable sources of elfroot and other healing herbs, and my farms - all the farms in Thedas - need her inventions to run efficiently, to save as many lives as possible. I had to decide if keeping her alive to improve crop ratios would save more lives than her leaking the red lyrium would destroy. I had to decide… I’m sorry...”

Varric swore loudly, pacing back and forth and running his dirty fingers through his hair as Cassandra and the Inquisitor whispered to each other quietly. 

“Why are you here?” He finally asked. “Why did you want to be here for this?”

Elisabeth swallowed, her tears and the ginger burning her throat. “So I can take the blame.”

“What?”

“I’m the guilty one. I’m the one who could have stopped it and didn’t try hard enough. I know you’ll want to feel guilty, that you’ll be angry at yourself and Bianca; be angry at me instead. It’s on me, and I want you to forgive yourself at my expense. It was never your fault, Varric, because it was always mine first.”

Varric stared at her, his eyes hard and dark. “Void take you, Elisabeth St-Laurent.”

He wound around her and headed out of the room, ignoring Bianca who was trying to ask questions.

“Someone should go with him.” Elisabeth said quietly, staring at the ground.

Cassandra swung her shield off her back. “I’ll keep him safe.” she said, following noisily after the dwarf.

“What in the stone is going on?” Bianca asked, stomping her foot like a child.

“We both betrayed someone we were supposed to love.” Elisabeth whispered.

Elisabeth walked away as the Inquisitor started grilling Bianca on her involvement with the red lyrium. She didn’t bother listening as Bianca tried to justify herself; without Varric’s apologist influence, Mahanon was tearing into her, describing all the horrors he’d seen in the Emprise du Lion. She wandered past the bodies of the Carta dwarves, the blood starting to pool under the scattered bodies. The coppery odor was mixing with the decomposition smell of the lyrium. 

She’d lost agents to men like these. She’d lost friends. There was Marthe and Sirdy, who had worked for Bianca’s husband and both died in a mysterious warehouse fire; they’d been the only casualties.

Olaf has died during a shipping run, supposedly killed by bandits. Common bandits didn’t usually brand their victims’ faces with Carta signs, though.

The crew that took out the Warden lost half their men... She couldn’t imagine what it would do to Krem to lose even one of the other Chargers.

She’d left the enclosed room in search of a fresher air, but the smell of the Deep Roads below them wafted up. She looked down; the shafts of light had more trouble reaching here, trickling down, finding the last bright edges of rock to bounce off of before giving up and being swallowed by the depths, never to be seen again.

She could hear Varric and Cassandra speaking harshly several balconies above her. She couldn’t make out words, and tried to convince herself it didn’t matter.

The odor of rot and flesh decomposing wafted by once again. How much red lyrium was down there now, she wondered, looking over the short railing. How many years, decades even would it take to destroy it all? The dark abyss held no answers, even as Elisabeth pictured herself falling, falling like Alice down a rabbit hole, only with no pile of leaves and small animals at the bottom, only darkness and perhaps…

She’d been so far down into her own head that she almost missed the sound of burdened steps landing on the _passerelle_ from below. She couldn’t put a name on the hulking creature who had just climbed up to her level; they were all darkspawn, whatever their level. A helm covered most of its face, save for its desiccated and bloody mouth, spiked armour protecting his torso. Her daggers would do nothing but tickle a beast like that. Still, she had a knife in her hand out of terrified instinct. 

“Varric!” Elisabeth shouted, hoping they’d hear her. “Solas!”

She glanced back towards the room quickly, hoping to dash in, but she’d walked further than she’d thought in her introspective daze.

The beast pulled the hammer off its back, changing the grip so it could swing it through her skull with ease.

A metallic ping sounded, followed by swearing. Varric was three levels above, shooting down. His aim was probably true, but at that distance his bolts simply bounced off the darkspawn armour.

The beast roared, looking up at the source of the projectiles, its eye catching on the Seeker who was rushing down the stairs as quickly as she could, unfortunately held up by the sorry state of the masonry and maze-like twists.

As the darkspawn moved and roared, the rotting, putrid smell hit Elisabeth. She threw up into her mouth, even as she tried to back away. The sour taste in her mouth flashed her back to the Undercroft, where she’d first encountered the red lyrium, where Dorian had given her the warning that had led to her having nightmares where she was cut up into pieces, her blood and body parts auctioned off as she still lived. 

She wiped some of the ginger-flavoured bile away with her hand as she realised it wasn’t the lyrium that was making her sick: it was the Blight.

Behind her she could hear Solas and the Inquisitor shouting; a teal barrier briefly appeared around her, but popped out of existence as Elisabeth tripped on broken stonework, falling backwards but managing not to drop her knife.

The beast was done being distracted by the stomping Seeker and the mosquito stings of Varric’s crossbow and turned to face her again. Its bleeding-gummed mouth turned up in a grimace that could have been a smile, a grimace that reminded her too much of Bourgeois and Deceit. A smile that promised pain and death.

Elisabeth’s mind spun as she tried to recall what Dagna had said, before the assassin had interrupted her. Something about explosions; about using her vomit on the lyrium.

She shuffled backwards, still trying to get away, the stone cutting into the palm of her free hand as she moved through the rubble.

All at once, Elisabeth realised what might be her only way out. It seemed as if time slowed around her. The others were converging on the darkspawn, but they wouldn’t reach it before she was smashed into the ancient stone. And they didn’t need to. 

She stopped crawling back and crouched down, all the while pulling the blade of her dagger deep down her left hand, pulling into the wrist as much as she could in one stroke. The pain was disorientingly sharp, but she pushed herself up, meeting the large darkspawn head on, not willing to wait for it to cave her head in. 

The beast had a moment of hesitation when she charged, and that was all it took for Elisabeth to slam her wound against the exposed flesh of the creature’s chin, smearing her blood down to its neck as she gagged on the wet, festering smell that surrounded her.

The darkspawn screamed, a gutted sound that bubbled as the skin where her blood had touched began to boil and peel. She was pushed away as it dropped its hammer; the beast clawed at its throat, where its own dark, diseased blood mixed with Elisabeth’s.

Moving through the pulsing pain, Elisabeth swung her bleeding arm towards the monstrous horror, drops of her blood smattering on its uncovered legs, and mixing into the boiling wound of its face and neck. She swung back for another swing, but her arm was caught by strong hands that clasped themselves over her wounds. Solas’s minty magic started pouring into her arm. The Inquisitor sped past them, climbing onto the darkspawn’s back and stabbing both of his long daggers into its neck.

“Your power is tied to your will, Elisabeth.” Solas said, through gritted teeth. “Let me work this healing. Pull back your hold on reality, and let me in.”

Elisabeth had no idea how to do what he asked. 

Mahanon leapt gracefully off the huge beast, landing a safe distance away as it fell to the ground, convulsing, the sound of its flesh softly popping and sizzling like meat on a grill. The smell was beyond anything she could handle, and combined with the pain, she threw up whatever was left in her, the sound of her retching echoing through the ruins.

“I need to sew her wound” Solas shouted, as his magic faded from her arm. She couldn’t look at it, so she stared straight ahead, at the seething mass of decomposing flesh and armour that used to be a darkspawn, at the Inquisitor and Cassandra moving ahead to see if there were any more. Varric’s wide head appeared in her field of view, blocking out the other things.

“Bianca’s gone to get the suture kit I have in my bag.” He said, though his voice sounded distant in her ears. “We’re going to move back into the room and shut the door till we get you sewn back up, alright Bookworm?”

She tried to nod, but her head spun. “I refuse to faint.” She had meant to say it, but it came out as a wet whisper.

“Of course, of course. Let’s get you moving.”

She was happier than she thought she’d be to be back in a room full of corpses and red lyrium.

Solas pulled off the bracer from her left arm, and passed it to her.

“You’re going to want to bite into this.” He said quietly, taking the leather bifold from a pale Bianca.

“Fuck this stupid world with your stupid medieval medicine. Fucking barbaric butcher shop bullshit.” 

“Bite.”

She did as she was told, whining bravely as Solas began pushing the curved needle through her skin. Her beautiful new bracers would have teeth marks in them. 

“That… that was not blood magic.” Cassandra said solemnly. “I would have felt it.”

“Then what was it?” The Inquisitor asked.

“Not blood magic.” Solas agreed. “More likely, magic blood.” There was a hint of a smile in his eye at his cleverness; Elisabeth nearly had time to roll her eyes before he started on another stitch, making her wince instead.

\--

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations  
> Si - yes  
> Ben non - of course not  
> penses-y - think about it  
> mon amie - my friend  
> Les Fermes Déméter - Demeter Farms  
> passerelle - footbridge


	27. Just Because You Know Everything

All in all, Elisabeth thought, Solas had done an excellent job healing what he could deep in Valammar mines. He’d concentrated his magic on the tendon she had nicked with her blade, leaving the skin to be healed later, when he wasn’t at risk of being drained of his magic in a dangerous cave.

They’d ridden quickly back to Skyhold, stopping only to water the horses and harts and rebandage her arm. She’d shared his hart with Solas; Bianca had ridden back with them on Elisabeth’s mare. The Inquisitor and Cassandra had had _chats_ with her before they left the mine. Mahanon had come over during a water break to let Elisabeth know that Bianca would not be mentioning what she had seen Elisabeth do, otherwise everyone would know who released red lyrium into the enemies’ hands. That threat alone had managed to shut the mouthy dwarf up on the ride back to the keep.

They’d briefly discussed what to do about Elisabeth’s hand. They couldn’t send her to the infirmary; others would too easily be able to see how difficult she was to heal. 

She had been swept away to her room, where Dorian had taken over for Solas, trying to get enough magic pumped into Elisabeth to close the wound. Krem and Bull looked on nervously. Krem stood near the head of the bed. The scarves and blankets they’d hung up for her brightened up the room despite his sour expression. The Iron Bull stood behind Dorian, his hands lightly on his hips, feigning casualness but ready to catch the mage should anything go wrong.

“Really, gentlemen…” Dorian said, his voice haughty but strained. “You’d think I was attempting something actually difficult, with the way you worry-warts are hanging about.”

He was directing his magic into the skin, pushing while attempting to not touch her skin. Solas had theorized that avoiding physical touch might help the magic be more effective. 

Dorian’s nonchalant airs nearly held up, but he unwittingly groaned and ruined it. Bull stepped forward and put a hand against his ribs, gently pulling him back.

“I’m alright... it’s absolutely fine, Bull.” Dorian had managed to make it less inflamed, but he had taken on an unattractive grey pallor.

“Thank you Dorian, this is great.” Elisabeth said. She looked at Bull. “Please make sure he gets some rest.”

Bull nodded, and scooped up the mage who managed to make weak sounds of protest. “Yes, Kadan, I know. You’re positively mortified and you’ll never live it down. There there…” Dorian was carried out of the room easily; Bull even had a free hand to shut the door behind him.

Krem stayed behind, and sat on the bed in front of Elisabeth. “What happened, down in that mine? I heard the official version, but…” He held her uninjured hand in his, tracing small circles on the base of her thumb.

The official version was that the Inquisitor and Cassandra had killed the darkspawn, saving Elisabeth from its clutches. That the darkspawn had injured her hand.

Elisabeth told Krem what really happened: the fight with the Carta, Bianca’s betrayal, her fight with Varric, stupidly wandering off and meeting what she’d learned later was a Hurlock Alpha. She told him about the stench, Varric’s unsuccessful bolts, and her split-second decision to counterattack it before it could kill her - and anyone else.

She described slitting her hand open and charging the beast, the sizzling sounds the skin made as it burned, and pounding in her head as it finally died, dissolving into a mess of flesh.

She noticed he’d stopped his small caresses. He’d gone completely still as she finished describing how Solas had stitched her back together and she looked up at his eyes. She’d never seen him like this before.

She’d seen him confused and sore, when he’d stayed the night in her jail cell with her in the Western Approach. She’d seen him cheeky but proud when she’d managed to beat him in accuracy with throwing daggers. She’d seen him worried but relieved when he’d plucked her out of the cart when she’d sprained her ankle escaping the terror demon. This was different.

He looked properly pissed.

“Fasta vass!” He stood up and ran his hands over his head, obviously trying to calm himself down. He finally turned and faced her. “You faced a Hurlock by yourself? Liz, I’ve seen what the blight can do to people. Just a drop of darkspawn blood in your system could…”

“It turned out fine!”

“You touched a darkspawn with an open wound, Liz! What if you’d been wrong?”

Elisabeth looked away briefly. “Better me than the Inquisitor, right?”

Krem took a deep breath and got closer.“Promise me you’ll never do something that dangerous again,” he said quietly, putting his hands on her shoulders.

“You know I can’t…” Elisabeth stumbled over the words, caught between feeling treasured and insulted. “I can’t promise that.”

“Liz, you don’t have the training the rest of us do! The mages can’t heal you right! It’s way too dangerous for you to be out there! Look at your damn hand!”

Elisabeth clenched her stitched hand, refusing to look at it. “I’ve never said you can’t go out on missions. I’ve never made you promise not to put yourself in danger when you lead the Chargers!”

“That’s because your _story_ says I’ll always come back!” He barked. “You don’t have to worry cause you already know how your _game_ ends!”

The accusation hit Elisabeth like a wall, pulling all the breath from her body. She pulled back from Krem, clenching her fists tighter, the nails of her left hand catching on her stitches.

“That’s not fair…”

“It’s not!” Krem shouted. He stepped back a bit, trying to calm himself down. “It’s not fair that you’re so sure you know everyone will survive this, but that you can’t say the same for yourself! It’s like you don’t care what happens to you… You don’t even think this is real, do you?” He stepped forward again, and gently took her face in his hands. His thumb traced over the scars left by the shade’s claws. “I just…” He leaned forward and bumped his forehead to hers. “I have to go,” he whispered.

“Krem…”

“Amata… I’m going to go see if Grim or Rocky want to train.” He ghosted a kiss to her forehead and left the room, shutting the door quietly.

It felt like all the light left the room with him. The beautiful colours draped over her walls dulled as the last few days fell over Elisabeth. The drama with Bianca had been something she had started thinking about the very first evening she’d spent at the Hanged Man. After Varric had interrupted her story and led her to a room with a private bath, she’d collapsed into exhausted tears of relief. By the time she was clean and dressed, and Varric had placated her with his honeyed words, she’d looked into his face, younger than she remembered.

“You realised you were going to have to lie to him.” Cole said quietly.

“Hi Cinnamon Bun.” Elisabeth whispered, her voice choked with tears. “Can I have a hug?”

Like Thedas’ friendliest spider, Cole unfolded his arms and wrapped himself around her as her breathing started to stutter in her throat, as all the lies she’d had to tell seemed to pile up in her mind. There were lies to friends, to her family, to the man she loved…

Cole’s fingers slipped into her wounded hand, loosening the grip that had reopened her stitches, completely unbothered by the blood that was smearing between them. She knew he was listening to all her inner hurts, all the things she’d had to hide - all the things she had to keep hiding.

“I can’t do any more, Cole. _J’peux plus_...”

“Smell my shirt.” he said all of a sudden.

“What?” Elisabeth obeyed unconsciously, taking a big sniff. It smelled clean, like the sheets that the servants would hang in the sun after using the basic but effective soaps they had in the laundry rooms of the keep.

“You made Krem see me; he made me some shirts. You made Dalish see me; she lets me put them in the laundry with the Chargers’ things, so they can be washed. I don’t know if Sophia in the basement can see me, but she can wash my clothes. Not everything you have done required a lie.”

She squeezed him tight, and he did the same. “Can you help me practice my sleeping?” he asked.

“Of course, _cher_.” She had a feeling it was mostly for her benefit.

“Sing me a song you would sing to Camille when she was little. It’ll help.”

She nodded, and after swallowing a few of her tears, nestled him in her arms and began to sing a song about the moon running after the sun, all around the garden.

She didn’t know who fell asleep first.

\--

She woke up alone; no Cole, no Krem.

The lamps had gone out, and the colours had faded. Her room didn’t have a window for her to easily tell the time, but by the clashing of the swords she could hear, it was probably closer to lunchtime than breakfast. The soldiers tended to do running and endurance work in the mornings, and weapons training later on in the day.

She lay in bed, half-wishing Genova was here to hustle her out of it, half hoping that she could lay forgotten here. She’d done most of what she’d set out to do.

She had played the Game and improved the lives of the elves in the alienages and of the working people of Val Royeaux. Michel and Elaine were now more than comfortable, and Camille could grow up less afraid of disease, hatred and Chevaliers than ever before.

She had played the spy and saved the Inquisitor’s clan, most of the Seekers, and Josephine. Vivienne’s lover had died in peace, Blackwall hadn’t been hung in a Val Royeaux square.

There was a knock at the door, but she ignored it.

She had played the markets and made more money than she could understand. Her efforts would bear fruit for years to come, and none of her projects would want for funding; her farms, the orphanage, her publishing house, the atelier. She had made enough money to buy the amulets, and Solas’ heart was softened by Wisdom, and Cole was whole, without changing. Cullen seemed to be doing better.

She had failed Bull and his Chargers, but that had worked out alright. She had failed Varric.

The person knocked harder. Elisabeth ignored them harder. She ducked her head under her covers.

The Inquisition was now well equipped with knowledge and money, the two things she could bring to the table. Other people were able to make forgeries; other people could mend books. She wanted to be done.

The sound of her lock being picked was harder to ignore.

She didn’t move as the door opened and was closed again quietly.

“Bookworm, you want to tell me why you missed breakfast and Loverboy destroyed all of Cullen’s recruits?”

“Varric.” Elisabeth tossed the covers off her head. She had slept but was still exhausted. “Just because you’re a rogue doesn’t mean you can break into a woman’s room. What do you want?”

“I asked why your Lieutenant is outside laying waste to anyone stupid enough to challenge him.”

Elisabeth winced, digging her face into her pillow. “We fought. He may not want to be _my_ Lieutenant anymore. I don’t know if…” 

Varric laughed, using his hand to help him hop onto the bed, pushing aside her legs to make room for himself. “You’re an idiot sometimes. More than Hawke, maybe! Possibly.”

“ _Mange donc d’la marde_ , dwarf…” She sat up and looked at Varric. He looked better, or at least, not hungover. “How are you doing?”

“Oh, I’ve been better. Bianca left last night.”

“Are you going to see her again?” Elisabeth asked, inwardly winching as she stole the Inquisitor’s line.

Varric shook his head. “Dagna can fix my bow as well as she can, nowadays.”

Elisabeth stared at her hands. “I should have told you before.”

“Yeah, you should’ve.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I don’t know if I would have believed you, honestly…” Varric stretched his old legs, both his knees popping. “Some tall grumpy warrior convinced me I should forgive you.” He winked dramatically.

“There are a lot of those around here.”

“The Seeker reminded me that I’d asked her to forgive you back in Val Royeaux.”

“She did? You did?”

“Yeah.” He patted her uninjured hand. “If her and me can forgive you, don’t you think your Krem-puff will?”

“He says I’m not being careful. That I don’t care what happens to me.”

Varric laughed at her. “I mean, he’s not wrong. You’ve always seemed quite keen to put yourself in harm's way.”

“I have not…”

“It’s almost like you have a death wish.” Varric raised an eyebrow.

“I do not… Ugh!” She pushed him away and stood up for the first time since Dorian had healed her yesterday. “Look, I’ve done all I can. I’m not a hero, and I’m not supposed to be here! I never thought I would make it this far.”

“Tell that to Camille.” the dwarf said. “Tell that to Cole and Krem, and Solas’ special friend. Don’t be an idiot, Bookworm. You’ve got friends here, and they need you.”

He opened his arms and she fell into them, his chin resting on her head as she tried not to cry into his chest hair. It was still as soft as it was that first night in Kirkwall, when she’d fallen to her knees into him.

“You’re ridiculous.” she said quietly.

“And like I said, you can be an idiot. Just because you know everything, doesn’t mean you know best.”

Elisabeth froze, repeating his words in her head, over and over. Shit. Shit.

“I screwed up with Krem, didn’t I?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“I need to go apologize.”

“You should hurry, yeah. Last I know, when he was done roughing up Bull he was going to ask the Seeker to spar.”

“She’ll pummel him!”

“Probably. It might end his winning streak, which would lose me a lot of coin, too.”

Elisabeth whacked him with her hand, but found that she was smiling. “You bastard! Where was he?”

“Training ring, near the tavern. Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

“Keep up, old man.”

\--

Elisabeth wasn’t running, but that was really only for the benefit of the Orlesian twats in the main hall. She was already not dressed properly, having left her room in only leggings and a long sleeveless tunic, and she could only imagine what they’d say behind her back later. 

She realised she didn’t care and grinned. They could think what they wanted, because she was done.

She looked at the perfectly poised mask of one of the Orlesians, at the harsh eyes gazing from behind the porcelain and felt an immense weight come off her shoulders. She didn’t care what they thought, and her projects would survive.

She started running, which made the masked woman scoff, and Varric laugh. She bolted through the sets of doorways, and down the stone steps she’d climbed so many months ago; they were no longer falling apart. The courtyard wasn’t filled with desperate refugees but with vendors and soldiers. She was done… well, almost.

She ran till she reached the training ring, just in time to see Krem swing a wooden war hammer up into Bull’s chin, sending the Tal-Vashoth flying backwards to land on his ass.

Krem was panting, holding the hammer in front of him in case his boss got back up. Bull stayed down, grabbing his chin as he cackled and wheezed. Krem a black eye and a split bottom lip and he was filthy and glorious.

Elisabeth ducked between the fence posts and ran into Krem, arms wrapping around his neck as he dropped the training hammer in surprise.

“I’m sorry, Krem. I messed up.” She said into his neck; he wrapped his arms around her as she spoke. “I should be more careful, you were right.”

“I…” His hands tightened, gripping like he was afraid of her disappearing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ask you things you don’t ask of me. I shouldn’t have been so angry. I was really worried and it came out wrong.”

Elisabeth slammed her mouth into his, kissing him in front of everyone, Thedas sensitivities be damned. He tasted like sweat and blood and home, and Elisabeth relished it. He easily picked her up and she wrapped her legs around his thighs as the hooting and hollering started on the training ring sidelines.

It didn’t matter that she was in the middle of a castle, or that one of the people cheering was eight feet tall and had horns. It was real.

“If you’re both sorry, do you think you could stop beating everyone up then?” Dalish called out, her healing magic dancing across Bull’s ribs.

Elisabeth sighed, watching the reddish blue bruising lighten and fade back to Bull’s regular grey-brown skin. She set her head on Krem’s shoulder, hugging him tight.

“If that worked on me, he’d be less worried.” Cole piped up, from behind Krem. To his credit, Krem didn’t drop Elisabeth.

“If that worked on her, she could come out with us.” said another voice behind him, which did manage to spook him.

“Hi Wisdom.”

“You are correct, Elisabeth’s heart, it could be perceived as unsettling when we _tag-team_.”

Krem rolled his eyes. “Yeah, that.” He said as he put Elisabeth down.

“I believe my wolf has a solution.”

Elisabeth stared at the spirit, her mind racing.

“Who’s the wolf?” Bull asked, with an open grin.

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:
> 
> J’peux plus - i can't  
> cher - dear  
> Mange donc d’la marde, dwarf - eat shit, dwarf


	28. The Ugly Foal

Elisabeth had only returned once to Kirkwall; the week after the Chantry exploded. She had spent nearly every penny she’d made in the last year buying supplies for low town and the alienage. She had bought blankets and easy to eat foods, had stashed elfroot and healing potions to hopefully help with the burns, and had even hired two tailors temporarily to make simple but clean clothing she was hoping to hand out to those in need. She had made the journey with Michel, who had only known her a few months by then but managed to not be shocked when she had dragged him half way across Thedas to go distribute blankets.

She had hoped that doing something in the aftermath of the explosion might help alleviate the guilt. She had learned very quickly that it wouldn’t.

She found herself in the alienage late one evening, trying to sort through her thoughts. Some of the newly freed Circle mages had taken refuge in the alienage, trading their healing magic and skills for shelter.

“The damage wouldn’t have been so bad without the lyrium…” a younger, elven mage was telling an older human one, as they both tore sheets to make bandages. 

“You have no proof, Adina. Just because a solution is flammable, it doesn’t make it explosive!”

“Explosive?” Elisabeth had asked, unable to resist. 

“Oh, don’t get her started!”

“No, I mean, he’s not wrong, but he’s still wrong.” The elven mage turned to face Elisabeth properly; she didn’t have any eyebrows above her pretty blue eyes, which made her look both younger and perpetually shocked. “He’s correct about the non-exclusive properties of flammable liquids, but he is wrong wrong wrong about the lyrium!”

“You had to get her started.” The older man said, without too much malice. “I’m going to go make myself useful somewhere else before my headache gets worse.” He gave the younger woman a few pays on the shoulder. “Don’t go anywhere without me. It isn’t safe out there for anyone.”

“Of course not, old man.” The young woman looked kindly as the mage walked away. 

“My name is Elisabeth. I’ll help you make bandages if you tell me more about the lyrium and the chantry explosion.”

“I’m Adina!” The mage had then laid out her theory: that the destruction of the Chantry had been so explosive because of the stores of lyrium kept deep below the religious hold. The pressure and heat could have caused the lyrium to react more violently.

Of course, Adina wasn’t sure how much lyrium was kept down there - enough to keep all the Templars topped up, at least, she supposed- or how hot it would have needed to get, or how much it contributed to the blast. “I understand why people don’t believe me, I guess.” It was hard to tell if the girl was seriously upset without the eyebrows.

On a whim, Elisabeth wrote her full name and the address of the broken down warehouse she had purchased. Told her to look her up if ever she wanted to work on that idea.

A year later, Adina had shown up at the _atelier_ , Elisabeth’s note worn and bloodied clenched in her hand. The old man was dead, she was rail thin, and she still didn’t have any eyebrows.

Over the next few years, Adina worked both at the university and in the _atelier_ , researching all of the physical properties of lyrium, until her magnum opus, a theoretical, heretical paper on the use of lyrium as a weapon should the veil ever be removed. 

After an enraged Templar attempted to stab her during her thesis presentation at the _Université_ , she decided to retire to Rivain. Elisabeth had helped make sure she was somewhere safe and comfortable, where she could continue her research in peace; relative, explosive peace.

Before the Inquisition had marched out on Adamant, Elisabeth had arranged it so that Dagna and Dorian would both find the research she had prompted and funded, on the explosive properties of lyrium. She had wanted them both to find the information at the same time, and had required her to _accidentally_ have tomes on lyrium uses and abuses for Dorian shipped to the Undercroft. Elisabeth had relied on Dagna’s stone-given curiosity to peek inside, and it had of course worked.

By the time Dagna had _correctly_ rerouted it to Dorian, she was full of ideas, which she was only too keen to share with Dorian.

All it had taken was for Elisabeth to _overhear_ them and contribute Adina’s treatise, on the theoretical power of lyrium-based explosives. She had Dagna hooked with the explosive part, and Dorian with the thrill of the word theoretical.

Together they had built the bomb the Inquisitor had taken into the fade, the one that had nearly saved the Warden. The tainted, but not blighted, lyrium had blown some of the legs off the giant spider-demon.

Dagna and Dorian had now teamed up with Solas, and apparently had an even better idea, but they were refusing to tell Elisabeth about it much to her annoyance.

“So you have a plan.”

“A great plan!” Dagna said proudly. 

“That involves me.”

“You are pivotal in its success, yes.” Solas’ voice was pinched, like he was trying not to smirk.

“And you won’t tell me about it?”

“Not yet, my dear.” Dorian purred. “You’re not ready.”

She stared at the three of them; an immortal elf, a Tevinter mage and a surfacer dwarf, working together against her as they sat in the Undercroft, early one evening. She didn’t know whether to hug them or slap them. 

“And why not?”

Dagna snorted. “We can’t include you in the plan until mages can heal you properly, of course.”

Elisabeth’s shoulders dropped. “So never then.”

Dagna tapped the side of her button nose. “Ah, but we have a secret weapon...”

“Andraste’s fucking malbari!?” Krem shouted as he appeared alongside Cole, in a puff of silvery rogue dust.

Elisabeth reached out to stop him falling, and pulled him into a hug. He smelled like soap, smoke and ale, and had probably been snatched from the tavern.

“I’ve been working on what Sera calls _comediacal timing_.” Cole said proudly, with a crooked grin on his face.

Dagna clapped her hands “That was brilliant, Cole!”

Solas and Dorian tried to resist rolling their eyes and both failed simultaneously, making Elisabeth smirk as she was gently manoeuvred into sitting on Krem’s lap. “Is this the thing we discussed?” he asked the assembled egg-heads.

“Indeed.” Solas said. Eggiest of them all, thought Elisabeth. “We theorised that anything that can make you more grounded in your own, real body, and help your mind to ground itself as well, will limit your resistance to this world’s magics.”

There was a pause, as everyone waited for her to digest what he’d just said.

“You have to believe it’s real.” Cole said; apparently not everyone decided to wait.

Krem wrapped his arms around her waist, and nuzzled his nose into her neck. She felt herself sink into him, her nerves melting as she concentrated on his warm breath.

Dorian’s hand slid into hers, and his lavender-hued magic pushed against her skin. “Try to concentrate on details, on small proofs that this world makes sense.” Solas said quietly, as Elisabeth tried to concentrate on Krem’s fingers tracing lazy circles on her waist.

She looked up and noticed, truly noticed, that Dorian’s nose, as perfectly aquiline and regal as it was, had pores. It had pores and irregularities, and there was a tiny whisper of a wrinkle around his mouth. It might become a laugh-line one day if he managed to find enough reasons to smile. If she could convince Bull to go to Tevinter with him, maybe, he’d find reasons to smile before the Qunari attacked…

Dorian half-hissed as he pulled his hand away. “It was working, briefly.” he said, shaking his hand as if it had fallen asleep.

“What were you thinking about?” 

Elisabeth blushed. “Dorian’s pores and wrinkles.”

A gasp and a beat, and Dagna and Krem exploded into loud laughter. Dorian huffed, and Solas chuffed. Cole smiled a confused smile. It took them a minute to calm down.

“Fine, if my perceived imperfections allowed my magic to affect you, what changed?”

“I started thinking about whether or not you would let Bull… after Corypheus… If…”

Dorian’s warm hand pressed against her cheek. “No, you can’t say, darling. I know.”

“You need a story within a story.” Cole said cryptically.

“Tell them about the ugly halla.” Krem whispered.

“The _what_?” Solas said, having caught the words with his eavesdropping ears.

“It’s just a story I’ve been thinking of publishing. It’s the Ugly _Foal_ , actually.” She twitched as Krem poked her gently in the arm. “It’s just another story for kids, but I’m not sure if Thedas is ready for the social implications....”

“I think she should write them all, regardless of the _implications_.” Krem said, the pride in his voice making Elisabeth feel all warm inside.

“I’ve heard about your stories!” Dagna said, scooching her footstool closer. “Still never heard one; Varric’s retellings don’t count.”

“Slimy little toad.” Elisabeth mumbled, then she composed herself. “Once upon a time, there was a young little foal who was growing up on a farm just outside of Val Firmin. His mother may have given him a name, but he didn’t know her and didn’t know it. The other foals in the farmer’s paddock just called him the Ugly Foal, because he was smaller, thinner and much more gaunt then all the others.”

Dorian slid his hand into hers, and gave it a squeeze as she talked.

“The other foals kicked and bit him when the farmer wasn’t looking. They nipped at his long bony legs and bashed his slender neck and head with their wide jaws till he had bruises and bumps on the crown of his head.”

“Fuckwits.” Dagna whispered.

“She learned that one from Sera.” Cole said quietly, making Dagna turn beet red.

“The only thing the ugly foal could do was run away, but he ran faster and further than any of the other foals could. He kicked his thin little legs and pushed his knobbly knees and in no time the other horses were too tired to follow him.”

Her hand in Dorian’s was tingling, He was obviously pouring in way too much power into her hand. She checked his colour with a flick of her eyes, but he looked alright for now.

“The other horses teased him about his pale coat, and his bumps on his head that only continued to get bigger as he grew. You can’t even grow proper horns like the deer, the other foals would tease. Yours are all twisted around!”

She watched as Solas’ eyes brightened as she twirled her free fingers above her head.

“One day, a wondrous sight appeared over the fields and small trees of the farm: beautiful sails, flapping in the wind, calling to the ugly foal like nothing he had ever seen. He wanted to see them closer; he had to see them better!

“His legs had grown strong after being lanky for so long. His head was tall even if he was burdened with his twisted deformed horns. He leapt over the farmer’s fence and into the woods. He ignored the panic cries of his brother foals and the shouting of the farmer as he raced through the trees, his twisted horns twisting through the bushes, his nimble feet not tripping on the roots and rocks. And then, the forest opened up and there they were!”

She waved her hands out instinctively, pulling out of Dorian’s grip. The mage swore in tevene at the same time as Krem gasped and tightened his hold. Her hand had been tingling, she realised, and it stopped as Dorian dropped his hand away.

Her hand was nearly healed.

The edges of the cut were still red, and she would likely carry the scar forever, but the holes from the tidy stitches were all but gone; the flesh felt cool and supple.

Everyone seemed to hold their breath as she felt her hand delicately. She coughed out a half-giggle, and her eyes misted up.

“What did he find?” Dagna asked impatiently, breaking the moment.

“Aravels.” Elisabeth said quietly, as she heard Krem mumble thanks to the Maker behind her. “He found aravels being pulled by the most beautiful creatures he had ever seen.”

She looked up at Dorian, who was looking exceedingly proud of himself. Dagna was wiggling in her seat and Solas was smiling sweetly, making his face look soft and mortal. Cole was looking at the scene like a boy who had just discovered a beautiful new kind of bug; amazed and intrigued.

“What are you?, the ugly foal asked the ethereal animals.” Elisabeth tried to keep her voice steady, but she wasn’t sure she was managing. “We’re halla, said the largest one of the troupe, who had the largest, most intricate horns. Just like you, the halla added. Struck dumb, the ugly goal let the small farmers crowd around him. He didn’t understand their soft commands but the words sang to him. His own farmer arrived eventually, but instead of pulling him back to the farm with a rope, he smacked his rump almost too hard and told him he was a good boy. Then he left.”

“He stayed?” Cole asked, though she was sure he knew the answer.

“He did; he stayed with the aravels and the small farmers. He was no longer an ugly foal, and he was home.”

Dagna sighed a happy dramatic sigh. “That’s step one!”

“What?”

“You need to practice being healed before we tell you the rest of the plan.” Dagna’s happy tone wasn’t making Elisabeth any happier to be kept out of the loop. “You said you’d trust Dalish too, correct?”

“That would work, if she was a mage.” Krem said. “Which she isn’t.”

“Great!” Dagna said, ignoring Krem. “When Solas and Dorian get back from the Arbor Wilds, if you’ve gotten good enough, we can move on.”

Elisabeth twitched; the forest, the red lyrium beasts, the temple… the dead elves, the puzzles, the well…

Dorian and Solas jumped in unison.

“That was…”

“As if she reached out with her own version of reality.” Solas finished.

“Could it be used offensively, you think?” Dagna asked the mages.

Elisabeth was already halfway to the door. “Later, whatever. I need to speak to Mahanon. When do you leave for the Arbor Wilds?”

“At first light tomorrow.” Solas said, catching up. “May I join you?”

Elisabeth stared into his eyes. She wasn’t sure what she was looking for, but he had his _just a keen scholar_ vibe on and she got nothing.

“Fine.” She shook her head. “Fine. Krem, could you please find Dalish and ask her to meet with me later? So we can go over practice? I need to go… to go...”

Krem walked to her quickly and kissed her brow. “Go warn the Inquisitor, Amata. I’ll find Dalish.”

Elisabeth took a deep breath, then nodded at Solas, who followed her out of the undercroft. Asking the guards revealed that Mahanon was in his chambers, so Solas took the lead.

The steps up to the Inquisitor’s rooms were dark and echoed; they were cold and lonely in a way the tavern and the Chargers’ barracks never were. Elisabeth didn’t know if the fault was in Skyhold itself, or in the more recent reconstruction, but the rooms at the top of the tower were incredibly isolated from the rest of the castle. Even the chatter of the great hall disappeared.

“Was there a grand chamber like this, in older versions of this castle? Something up high where a cursed princess or rogue might perch?” She asked Solas, trying to fill the silence. “Maybe you’ve seen something of it in the Fade?” She teased.

He scoffed but smiled at her, and it was the smile she recognised from Val Royeaux, the smile that belonged to the elf who didn’t have a secret identity to hide.

They popped up at the top of the stairs, and Elisabeth noticed Solas shrink back into himself, back into the apostate but… perhaps not all the way, she thought to herself. He still held himself tall, taller than he tended to.

“Ah, Elisabeth!” Mahanon said, dropping his quill on his desk without a second look. “Did Dagna’s plan work?”

She held her hand up in answer, and the younger elf’s wide smile melted her inside. “It did. Apparently I need to practice this trick before the second part of her plan is put into effect.”

Mahanon took her in his arms and hugged her, more delicately than Krem would but still full of warmth.

“She has learned we are departing for the Arbor Wilds tomorrow.” Solas said.

Mahanon’s hug loosened slowly. “You’re staying here.” He said firmly.

She huffed. “Yes, yes, of course. I just need to tell you what you will find at the end of Mythal’s temple.”

“It is Mythal’s?” Solas asked quietly.

Elisabeth nodded. “I never knew what to do. When I…” She pulled back her tumbling thoughts and started again. “There is something called the Well of Sadness or something.”

“ _Vir'abelasan._ ” Solas said smoothly. “The Well of Sorrows.”

“You know of it, Solas?”

“I know of many things that most have forgotten.”

Elisabeth narrowed her eyes at him. “It will be destroyed. Someone will have to drink from it; either you or Morrigan.”

“But that would mean…”

“I don’t have a solution, I’m sorry. I just never knew what to do, so I thought you might appreciate the heads up.”

“A heads up…” Mahanon said slowly. “Just tell me this: will I defeat Corypheus?”

Elisabeth couldn’t deny him this, not when he looked at her with his wide doe eyes, eyes that reminded her so much of Camille begging her for assurance that the _croque-mitaine_ under her bed could be scared away. That the monster could be vanquished.

“It won’t be easy, but you’ll beat him back in the Wilds, and you will defeat him.”

Mahanon seemed to unwind slightly. “Thank the Creators for that.”

Solas cleared his throat. “I too have something I’d like to discuss before we head out tomorrow, Inquisitor.”

Elisabeth turned and stared at Solas, unable to control the shock on her face. He simply nodded at her. 

“I’m going to go.”

“Of course you know what he’s going to say already.” Mahanon rolled his eyes and collapsed on his couch. “Can’t be any stranger than your story, can it?”

Elisabeth bit her lip to keep from replying and nearly fled the room as Solas’ expression twisted.

—

The next morning, the Inquisitor, his companions and his armies left Skyhold.

If a certain elven mage had a shadow of black eye, few people noticed and even fewer thought anything of it.

“He is in so much trouble!” Cole giggled, leaning into Elizabeth as they watched the procession leave from the bridge between the Commander’s tower and the rotunda.

“Shouldn’t you be out there with them?” Elisabeth asked. She wasn’t properly dressed yet, but had hurried awake to give everyone she felt needed it a hug before they left. Everyone but Vivienne has received one; even Cassandra which had surprised both of them.

“I will be.” The boy said simply. “My daggers will be yours. I’ll watch over them and hurry them back.”

Elisabeth blinked and he was gone. 

—

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations:  
> atelier - workshop  
> Université - university  
> croque-mitaine - boogeyman (litterally mitten-cruncher)


End file.
